


Hero of Ishval

by 55anon (Anon)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Burns, Character Study, Chess, Fire, Flame Alchemy, Flame Alchemy's Pinpoint Technique, Gen, Genocide, I just write what comes to mind, Inertial confinement fusion, Ishval Civil War, Magnetic confinement fusion, Non-Linear Narrative, Nuclear fusion, Past Child Abuse, Post-Ishval Civil War, Roy's family, Seriously- non-linear narrative, Sex Work, Trans Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 64,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon/pseuds/55anon
Summary: The Flame Alchemist, they said, was a real commander.  He was what a wartime alchemist should be.
Comments: 53
Kudos: 58





	1. Command

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [groundwork days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509089) by [Nonymos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/pseuds/Nonymos). 



> Please let me know if there are any trigger warnings I should add. Not beta'ed.
> 
> FYI - I tend to go back and revise chapters multiple times. Apologies if this ends up spamming your inbox.

Being an officer in wartime is very different from being an officer during peace. This is the first thing Roy learns as lieutenant colonel at East City command. What surprises him is that he's good at it.

The thing is, Roy was not a commander, not in the traditional sense of the word. All State Alchemists deployed to the front went to officer school and learned everything associated with it-- troop formations, flanking maneuvers, battlefield tactics. Roy is intelligent; he learned it all diligently with the knowledge that his orders would be the difference between life and death for the soldiers under his command. But he quickly learned on the field that while he wasn't a terrible officer, he also wasn't a brilliant one.

It's not that he was indecisive or a glory hound. He gave sound orders, didn't let his unit get ambushed in the maze of Ishvalan city streets. Didn't take unnecessary risks, but didn't make bold maneuvers either. If Roy hadn't been a State Alchemist, he would have been another competent but unremarkable officer, just enduring the grind in the hopes of getting home alive and in one piece.

But Roy _is_ a State Alchemist, and an incredibly dangerous one. When the shooting starts, Roy's first reaction isn't to give orders-- it's to walk straight into the line of fire and blow everything up, leaving only ashes and the metallic ooze of melted machine guns.

At the beginning of the Major's deployment on the front, this was both a source of comfort and frustration for his officers, who were initially dumbstruck by the Major's ability to bring down entire city blocks with a snap of his fingers. When they got over their shock and awe, the feelings quickly transformed to something more complicated as it became clear that all of the Major's directives amounted to "no one needs to get killed: stay under cover while I take care of this." The Major, whether he was aware of it or not, inspired loyalty-- and they were soldiers. They were not satisfied to sit safely behind their lines while they watched the Major march forward, drawing all enemy fire towards him before he obliterated the enemy.

The unit rallied around him. The officers devised their own strategies to support the Major; they used shells and mortars to keep the Ishvalans occupied. They focused on taking out sharpshooters and survivors after they broke through the enemy lines; they covered the Major's six; they cleared each sector and in close quarters when blowing up buildings wasn't an option, they sent out patrols to survey the terrain, report numbers, then watched as the Major sent fire _bending around corners_ to neutralize any combatants.

If anything, Roy absorbed more through osmosis in the field than he'd ever learned at officer school. Retrospectively he realized it hadn't been a conscious process at all-- he'd been too focused on his alchemy, overextending himself until he hit the hard barrier of the laws of thermodynamics. When he wasn't with his men, he was with Knox, burning and healing Ishvalans under the thin guise of interrogation. Any free time he had left was devoted to not eating, not sleeping, and not thinking about what was happening around him.

But the campaign dragged on and the Ishvalans withdrew deeper and deeper into their nation. As officers and soldiers around him were killed, Roy picked up the slack. Again, it wasn't conscious. He just found himself barking out orders he'd heard Orlov, Cendo, Tennenbach, Gantry, Mur, Rowann, Akerthorn, Enes-- his captains and lieutenants and sergeants who'd died stepping on mines, clearing a building, stabbed by a corpse in a sea of Ishvalan corpses-- say before. His veteran officers filled in any gaps and the replacements quickly learned how things were run in Major Mustang's squad.

By this time most Ishvalans warriors had regrouped in their ancient cities. These cities were larger than the ones bordering Amestris, with an infrastructure that could truly support urban guerilla warfare. All of the military's strategies that had worked previously became useless. The army's cannons leveled buildings to piles of rubble-- this only created roadblocks that prevented the artillery units from further entering the city. Squads were deployed to engage the enemy-- the busted stone was unstable with treacherous footing and studded with land mines. The jagged landscape allowed Ishvalans to travel undetected, emerging at night to ambush and kill entire encampments, then disappearing as quickly as they came.

But most importantly, heavy artillery destroyed the army's access to water.

Ishval's oldest and largest cities were built on aquifers; every city's founding could be traced back its first well. Cities expanded outwards in concentric circles, each circle dotted with its own, smaller wells. If a well happened to be particularly fruitful, rings of houses also began forming around it. It made Ishval's cities extremely difficult to navigate and very easy to protect: before retreating from any part of the city, the Ishvalans destroyed the wells.

In the first stage of Amestris' campaign, it had been relatively easy for the military to transport supplies and water to the front-- that was the real reason the Ishvalans had targeted Resembool. It was central to supplying water to the military. But in the first stage of the campaign, all the Ishvalan cities bordered mainland Amestris.

In the second stage, supplying soldiers with water became a problem. The country had no rail lines; troop transport and supply relied on trucks; trucks relied on gasoline, another resource Ishval did not have. There was only so much Isaac McDougal could do to draw water from beneath the desert. Alex Armstrong could recover some of the existing wells (when they could find them in the rubble), but he couldn't create new ones. More than that, there were only two of them to support a force of thousands. In the second stage of the war, more soldiers died from dehydration than combat. At some points during the campaign, the situation became so dire that McDougal drew water from the blood of the dead.

This was where State Alchemists truly earned their reputations as Amestris' human weapons. Cities that should have taken months to secure at the cost tens of thousands of soldiers fell within a week.

Kimblee simply razed the city to the ground, killing most of the inhabitants. Basque Grand was a one-man artillery squad that could do both long and short range, expansive or precise attacks. Roy, though famous for his explosive flames that blew up buildings, actually perfected something worse-- he sent fire up and through and around streets and doors and windows, transforming people's houses into crematoriums.

What's more, while alchemists like Kimblee and Basque Grand killed and maimed people, broke school and libraries and temples, their alchemy still left behind books, holy texts, pieces of art, ceramics, textiles. Roy didn't just kill people-- his fires consumed entire centuries of Ishval's culture.

The third and final stage of the campaign was focused exclusively on extermination. Most of Ishval's warriors had been killed. The State Alchemists were deployed to regions that bordered the desert and ordered to clear the sectors. Most of the cities along the desert border could hardly be called cities-- they were towns. Roy didn't know it at the time, but the town had been the last one standing. When they radioed in their report and asked for their marching orders, Basque Grand told them to return to headquarters. They were finished.

Roy thought he'd killed the last man in the town. It finally hit him when his unit returned to regional headquarters, surrounded by cheering soldiers, that he'd killed the last man in Ishval.

_I will never forgive you._

They were fitting last words.

At the end of the war, he was named the Hero of Ishval by soldiers he didn't know. Somehow the name stuck. Technically, if anyone was named the Hero of Ishval, it should have been Kimblee. Kimblee had contributed more to the war than any other State Alchemist. He'd secured the most cities-- including Ishval's capital-- and his destructive range and power were legendary. But Kimblee was also a psychopath who used a soldier as a literal shield, then complained about the state of his uniform while he dumped the man riddled with shrapnel on the ground.

The stories from Major Mustang's squad, however-- the Flame Alchemist, they said, was a real commander. He was what a wartime alchemist should be. He was always the first into battle. He never led his men astray. He was a little aloof, but he was never conceited and he always listened to the intelligence his officers brought from the field. His squad had the least number of casualties. He always collected their dead and sent them home to be buried. He always managed to keep his troops well supplied. He inspired loyalty and trust. Every one of them would have followed him into hell but as it turned out, he was actually leading them home. Because the Hero of Ishval ended the war.

The only thing Roy Mustang, Hero of Ishval, could remember on the trip from regional headquarters back to central HQ was the old man's last words.

When Hughes greeted him with a salute and "Hero of Ishval," Roy lost it. For some reason, the parade grounds the Fuhrer had constructed enraged him further. Hughes mocking him just heaped fuel to the tower of fire and at that moment, he didn't care if he looked like he was about to _incinerate_ the Fuhrer, standing at the top, and he didn't care that the Fuhrer saw him.

But at night in his barracks, as he stared at his pristine gloves that bore no evidence of the hundreds of thousands of Ishvalans he'd killed, Roy seriously thought of leaving the military. He may have spoken to Hughes like a man with absolute conviction, but the truth was that his anger was not enough to overcome the fact that Roy didn't incinerate Ishvalans in the hopes of giving them a quick death, but because he vomited every time the canteen served any kind of meat.

It was only after Riza that he knew he was going to stay. Riza, who'd been twelve years old when Roy first began studying alchemy, and sixteen when he'd graduated from the Academy. She'd told him after her father's funeral, in that quiet way of hers, that her father had become ill soon after Roy had left to join the military. She had hoped her father would recover but after a year, his condition deteriorated rapidly and they both knew he was running out of time. He told Riza he wanted to pass his flame alchemy down to her. He asked her to do this for him, as his dying wish.

When Roy saw her at the end of the war, she was burying an Ishvalan child. Roy never left any bodies to bury.

She wielded her truths with precision and accuracy. She would never forget the war, she said. (Her fellow soldiers were already doing their best to excise it from memory.) She had trusted Roy, she said. (Roy took flame alchemy, mastered it, and the first thing he did was use it to commit genocide.) She had chosen this path of her own free will. (Good intentions didn't matter.) Then she made her request.

That evening after her father's funeral, Roy had instantly recognized the tattoo on Riza's back for what it was: an alchemical tattoo, similar to the tattoos on Kimblee's palms. The tattoo grew with her as she grew taller; it did not fade or blur as she got older. The image and words were as sharp as the day her father had inked them. While he was studying the tattoo, he'd felt something strange emanating from the ink itself. Riza told him that her father had implemented additional safeguards. If someone skinned her back, the tattoo wouldn't follow. If someone killed her, the tattoo would disappear. The only person who could destroy her father's work was the one who'd mastered its secrets.

They both knew he couldn't refuse her.

After they got back to Central, debriefed, paperwork processed, Roy decorated and promoted, Riza decorated and promoted, they separately applied for and were granted one month of leave. They bought their train tickets, gathered supplies and met at the old Hawkeye estate.

It is incredibly difficult to deface an alchemical tattoo. Roy was naive-- he'd hoped that since he'd "mastered its secrets," he wouldn't have to go beyond soft tissue damage to get rid of the important parts.

But apparently, for reasons known only to the twisted mind of his dead teacher, Master Hawkeye wanted to _make sure_ they knew they were burning it. It took multiple sessions of burning through Riza's dermis to deface the tattoo. Roy didn't know if he could count it a blessing that the actual burning was painless since he was destroying her nerve endings, but the healing was excruciating. When it became clear that Roy would have to burn her _multiple times_ , Riza made him swear on the lives of the Ishvalans he'd tortured that he would see this through to the end, even if she begged him to stop.

And she did beg him to stop. She forced him to tie her down as she screamed and passed out, screamed and passed out, sobbing and pleading for mercy. Roy tried to be stoic; he held out until she started begging. It was an endless cycle and thanks to his work with Knox, Roy knew how to heal, then burn, and heal, and burn. After a certain point, Roy could no longer tell if her pain was from the healing or reburning. At that point, it didn't really matter. He gave her intravenous fluids, dressed her wounds, did his best to prevent infection. Roy pleaded with her to let him give her morphine. She refused.

It took five days for the tattoo to stop reforming. He lost count of how many times he'd healed and burned her. Despite his best efforts, Riza's back became infected and she was delirious as she fought the fever. Her recovery-- and it was not even a full recovery-- took two weeks. Roy desperately applied as much medical alchemy as he knew and invented a few things along the way.

In the end, it looked like she had patches of second degree burns. They looked raw and angry, but they didn't tell the story of the time Roy lost control and burned her down to muscle. Didn't show the livid bruising around Riza's wrists and ankles from being tied down. Riza was still in pain-- she was in pain when she moved her back, neck, shoulders, arms, torso.

They parted ways; her back to the Academy and him to Eastern Command. Roy caught sight of her once before he left, at the shooting range carrying a huge sniper rifle across her back. He didn't know if he'd ever see her again. If he was honest, he didn't know if he'd ever _want_ to see her again.

Roy pushed that thought away. From that day forward, he dedicated every moment to his mission. He and Hughes made a habit of talking to each other every day on the military lines; Hughes' updates on his courtship with Gracia served the double purpose of keeping Roy appraised of the situation in Central.

It was a silly code that quickly evolved into something much more complex. Things in Central were a mess; another State Alchemist or military officer resigned every day; there were rumors of plots against the military; there were rumours of plots within the military. Many were angered by the purge of Ishvalan soldiers; there were reports of unrest among the citizens, and on and on. The landscape shifted faster than quicksand and it soon became clear that the first step of their plan was to get through the upheaval in the military, establish their own reputations, and seize any opportunity to get promoted. (And marry Gracia, in Hughes' case.)

Roy focused on building his team while developing his persona. He leaned hard into his reputation as the Hero of Ishval to attract talent. As it turned out, it attracted exactly the kind of talent he did not want: men and women who were good soldiers and nothing else. Patriotic, efficient, quick to obey and quick to kill.

So he started showing up later and later at the office. Put off paperwork. Left early for dates. Became unnecessarily loud and showy on missions. Took credit for other people's work. Ignored his officer's concerns.

One by one, the officers applied for transfers and Roy's squad became a revolving door. Fuery was the first person he kept.

Despite Fuery's appearance as a bright eyed and bushy tailed radio enthusiast, Fuery was wary of Roy's reputation as the Hero of Ishval, and not because of the rumors of Roy's nonexistent work ethic. Fuery had been in Ishval towards the end of the war. There was one occasion where he'd been assigned to repair a radio. When he'd arrived at the camp, a group of soldiers were torturing and laughing at a woman already half dead. Out in the open. No one said anything. Another assignment he'd been sent to repair an electricity line. There was a corpse at the base of the pole; the soldier assigned to guard him just kicked the man's face-- and kept kicking until the body was out of the way.

Roy recognized the wariness and recognized Fuery's native genius. It was easy to convince him to stay. Sometimes Fuery would slip and make a hesitant comment about his experience in Ishval (something Roy would have to train out of him-- they couldn't afford accidental leaks). Roy didn't immediately respond. He arranged situations-- walking back to barracks, discussing technical aspects of a mission, getting coffee-- where he let slip his own comments about Ishval. It was both a test and an overture. Fuery could read between the lines. And he stayed.

Riza took him completely off guard when he received her papers. They both knew too much about each other to be anything but unflinchingly honest. His first interview with her as commanding officer, he knew that when she said she'd follow him into hell, she meant three things: that he had her absolute loyalty, he did not have her absolute trust, and that she'd send him to hell if she had to.

Once Riza joined his team, he upped his game as a flirt and womanizer. Roy was well aware of the rumors that circulated about women who were adjutants to male officers. He didn't want any insinuations; no one would undermine her authority. He made it clear that she was the unit's commanding officer in his absence.

From that point onward, it was easier for Roy to pull together a team. He used his hours outside the office making useful connections, expanding Madame Christmas' network, gathering his own intelligence on internal politics, and head-hunting. When he found a candidate, Hughes ran a background check; Riza put them through what Roy liked to call the Competence Test; and Roy examined their allegiance.

Roy did the same for Hughes. When he found a promising intelligence officer, he connected them with Hughes, who would either drag them to Central or get them fast tracked for promotions in their regional office. This way, Hughes began building his own web of information that would span almost all the military outposts of Amestris.

So perhaps it's misleading to say that Roy is good at being a military officer in peacetime. It's more that once he has his team, he trusts them to work independently, each acting to further their common goal. It's better than being a wartime commander.

Though if you asked his team, they would say the same thing as his old squad: Colonel Mustang is always the first into battle. He never leads his team astray. He's a bit of a slacker, but he's never abandoned his post and he always listens to the intelligence his officers bring from the field. He inspires loyalty and trust. They're all willing to follow him into hell and they're all committed to following him to the top. Because the Hero of Ishval will end these wars, and they want to believe he can do it.


	2. Order No. 3066

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a lot of dialogue directly from the manga.
> 
> Revised Jan. 1, 2021.

This is not an excuse for what he did. And even if it was a valid excuse, it just damns him further for what he didn't do after. It's the reason why Riza is his conscience, and why he will always trust her moral compass more than he trusts his. More than he trusts Hughes'.

This is the not excuse: none of them knew about Order No. 3066. It's likely Kimblee did-- he was always in and out of meetings with the generals before he was deployed to a city. But as far as Roy has been able to uncover, among the other State Alchemists sent to the front, none of them had known that Fuhrer's intent was, from the beginning, the extermination of Ishval. It was only in the middle of it all, when his hands were thoroughly soaked in blood, that he really looked up and saw what was happening.

They must have been six or seven months into the campaign-- two months or so after they'd entered the second stage. It was the first-- and last-- time he, Hughes, and Riza were all in the same place until the end of the campaign that was not a war.

It had become increasingly apparent that standard Amestrian strategy of attack was failing in the face of the towering Ishvalan cities. The military had sustained enormous casualties trying to take the stronghold of Shima; even after it had been "secured," there were reports of vicious guerilla warfare every day. For the assault on Ferinah, the military had called in all its State Alchemists to launch the offensive.

Personally, Roy had thought it was a stupid move to bring them all in one place. On top of that, some general (or generals, they seemed to work by committee) decided the best way to take the city was to surround it on all sides with State Alchemists. Roy was ordered to take his unit and position themselves on the other side of the hill. There was already a unit there pinned down by the Ishvalans and their situation was getting dire.

His commanding officer gave him a map outdated by ten years, an extra compass, told him they had no fresh intelligence on the enemy's movements or their resources. Roy was to lead a quick march-- through the night, if necessary-- get in position, radio in once he was there. No roads; no guarantee of backup; the soldiers they were going to reinforce had reported that there were very few sources of water.

To this day Roy attributes the fact that they survived that march to luck. They could have been ambushed at any minute and from the unique stench of bodies decaying in woolen coffins, it was evident that the Ishvalan warriors had launched a fierce attack on the Amestrian units Roy's squad was sent to relieve. His own unit faced two attacks on the march, but both attacks had far fewer Ishvalans than usual. The troop movements of the other State Alchemists forced the Ishvalans to divide their warriors to cover multiple sectors of their city.

When all the State Alchemists radioed in that they were in position, they were given the order to begin the attack, and to continue attacking until the city was completely secured.

Ferinah fell in two days.

Roy remembers the Ferinah Offensive, as it would later be called, only in flashes of nightmares. He hears the implacable, steady pace of his feet as he walked forward and sent fire everywhere. He doesn't remember screams; the metronome cadence of booms drowned everything out. He doesn't remember smells: his nose gave up after the first few minutes, overwhelmed by the stink and ash and smoke and flesh. When he startles awake, he has to stumble to the bathroom to wash away the phantom texture of his lips sticky with human fat and his face matted with ashes.

He does remember his single-minded focus to find a camp water station; remembers not caring that it was meant for troops to refill their canteens.

Somewhere along the way, like a car horn on a city street, Hughes emerged and followed him to the nearest watering hole. He made no comment on the black clumps that floated to the bottom of the trough, but when he finally saw Roy's face--

"The look in your eyes has changed."

It took one to know one. "So have yours. They're the eyes of a murderer."

Old habits die hard: he and Hughes walked far enough away from camp that no one would overhear them and Hughes, with his usual leap of deduction, asked the question that had been blindsiding Roy the past few weeks when he shook the sand out of his boots; when he was studying city maps; when he was marching with his squad as the soldiers chattered in the background about the girlfriends and boyfriends waiting for them at home.

"Do they plan to continue this until every single Ishvalan is dead? Why else bring in the State Alchemists?"

And why bring in _all_ the State's wartime alchemists?

Because Roy had been looking past what he saw. He focused on the future of the country whenever he caught a glimpse of the grotesque-- the manifold obscenities lurking in the corner of his eye.

Roy looked forward. Every time he perfected a new way to make a flame hotter, make an explosion larger, burn a body faster; every time his pinpoint technique sharpened, he told himself he was protecting Amestris. This war had gone on for seven years and taken countless lives on both sides. It needed to end. It would end. Roy was helping it end faster.

But what they just did to Ferinah: "Hughes-- this campaign-- if its only purpose is to suppress the rebellion, doesn't the military expenditure seem excessive?"

A pause. "I've been wondering the same thing."

Splintered wooden loom. Broken cart. A mule, lying on its side with its left hind a jagged maw, face tattered, each breath wet and labored. Most houses didn't even have telephones.

"Ishval has no significant natural resources, little useable land."

Hughes nodded.

"We've pulled so many troops from the West and South-- it's a huge tactical risk, sending us all here to stabilize the East. Is there something valuable here that we don't know about?"

"Maybe they intend to use this as a base for trade with Xing," Hughes replied, dark and flippant.

Roy didn't need to state the obvious; he did anyway. "If that's the case, it makes no sense to turn it into scorched rubble."

After which conversation was promptly derailed by Hughes' letter from Gracia, after which Roy was caught gloveless when they were attacked by a reanimated Ishvalan corpse, after which the Ishvalan was dropped by a sniper he'd last seen as a 16 year old girl saying she would find some way to get by with no family or friends to her name. Roy had organized the funeral. There were only three other people who came, all of them giving Riza their condolences with extremely formal, stilted politeness.

 _A real ace sharpshooter_ , Hughes had said. _Still in the academy. Brought her to the front. Skilled._

"My buddies've got a pool running on her daily tally of confirmed kills-- snipers have to report it to their CO's."

Roy looked at Hughes sharply. Hughes just gave him a crooked smile and a one-shouldered shrug. "I've got an in with her sergeant. She averages--"

" _Don't_ tell me." Roy's shoulders were tense, his hands balled into fists.

Roy could _hear_ Hughes' steel trap of a mind put everything together. He'd told Hughes during the Academy about his teacher, Berthold Hawkeye. Expounded at length how he didn't understand his teacher's aversion to the military. Said he would visit Master Hawkeye one more time to see if he could convince his teacher to help him obtain his State Alchemy certification. Came back, fevered and ecstatic and immediately buried himself in the library for weeks, commandeering an entire table for himself.

He'd never mentioned Riza, but he did mention Master Hawkeye had a daughter. That he'd help her organize Master Hawkeye's funeral.

"Hawkeye, huh?"

Roy really didn't like the thoughtful expression on Hughes' face.

Then Hughes went and jinxed them. "If they had to drag a kid like that out here, then the end must be near."

When they found Riza, she confirmed everything ( _do you remember me, Mr. Mustang?_ ) Hughes had probably concluded about their relationship ( _how could I forget?_ ) _._ But Roy found he didn't care: she looked at him, knowing he'd betrayed her.

"Oh, so you know each other!" Hughes smiled.

"Yes," Riza replied. Her eyes were still trained on Roy.

"I don't think we've been introduced-- my name is Hughes, Captain Maes Hughes," he said brightly.

Riza turned to him and saluted crisply. "Corporal Riza Hawkeye, sir."

"Corporal Hawkeye! I've heard many good things about you! Major Mustang and I were just about to get something to eat," Hughes continued cheerfully. "Why don't you join us and you and the Major can catch up? I'm sure you haven't seen each other in a long time."

"Captain Hughes, I'm sure the Corporal--"

"Yes, sir," she replied and gathered her things. Her rifle was almost as tall as she was at 16.

The walk towards the mess was-- Hughes filled the silence; he seemed to know everyone in the army. Roy watched out the corner of his eye as Riza's expression transformed from that piercing gaze into grief.

They found a relatively secluded spot. Two, three, four beats of silence passed with Roy looking at the curve of Riza's back. The camp clattered and buzzed but Riza's stillness, her bowed head, were almost unbearable. Roy was about to say something, anything, when Riza said softly, almost too softly to be heard.

It began, as with all things between them, with her father.

"I was afraid of my father," she said. "He looked like a man possessed when he did his research."

Roy saw her curl into herself every so slightly.

"But I still believed my father's words, that this great power was something that could be used for the benefit of the people."

 _But if I can help strengthen the foundation of this country and protect its people with my hands, that would make me happy_.

"That's what I believed."

 _I think that's a wonderful dream_.

"I thought alchemy was something that could make people's hopes and dreams come true, and that the military existed to protect the future of this country."

 _My goal is to pass the State Alchemist's test and devote myself to serving my country_.

"Please tell me, Major,"

_Mr. Mustang,_

"Why are we killing citizens when we, as soldiers, should be protecting them?"

_that dream,_

"Why is alchemy being used to kill when it's supposed to help people?"

_can I trust you with my back so that I can help make it come true?_

And she looked up at him, the agony of betrayal written on her face.

By rank, Riza was a cadet and corporal-- Roy could have her court martialed and dishonorably discharged for the way she spoke to him and the questions she asked.

But with Roy, she had every right.

To others, it must have sounded like a young girl with no wartime experience asking her commanding officer for reassurance. That their cause was just and there was a _reason_ for all this. A greater plan. Roy, after he'd gotten his State Alchemist certification, had once entertained the notion that he might meet Riza someday in the nebulous future, where he'd tell her all the ways her father's legacy had been used to improve the lives of the citizens of Amestris. That they had her to thank for trusting Roy with flame alchemy and all the good things it had brought into their world.

His mouth was dry. Hughes was silent. The soldiers around them had become quiet. Riza had voiced something every soldier was too afraid to ask. But she was asking _Roy_ , quietly devastated. She looked at him as though she'd discovered his true face-- the eyes of a murderer-- and she was condemning herself for trusting him.

In that moment, he thought he understood how she felt.

But in truth, Roy didn't understand. He understood her logic-- he knew the reasons why she felt the way she did. He didn't blame her for condemning him; he felt guilty that he'd broken her trust. It was only when Kimblee had opened his mouth that the tidal wave bashed him into the cliffside shoals, then dragged him under the rip current.

 _Because those are the orders we were given_.

Roy was killing enemy combatants.

_Don't avert your eyes from death._

Enemy combatants who were children of 14, men of 70.

_Look straight at it._

Roy was torching houses before they cleared out civilians.

_Look squarely at the people you're killing._

He left a trail of small, charred bodies in the city's streets.

_and don't forget them._

There were charcoal silhouettes of women cradling an empty child.

_Never forget them_

He threw away his white coat after each mission because it was caked with greasy ash.

 _because they will never forget you_.

Do they plan to continue this until every Ishvalan is dead?

Murmured stories of Armstrong raising stone walls and the troops shooting point blank. The soldiers said "enemy combatants" in one sentence and then "unarmed women and children" in the next.

_Maybe you were prepared to kill one or two people but not thousands?_

Kimblee was a psychopath, but he had his own code of honor. He was not a liar.

_Because that's the duty of State Alchemists._

Kimblee told Roy to look straight at death-- not war, but _death_.

And Roy's world tilted until he finally saw what he had not wanted to see.

This was not a war. This was slaughter. This war-- these _deaths_ \-- would not end until every single Ishvalan was killed.

 _This_ was the betrayal.

He knew Riza and Hughes had heard what Kimblee was saying too. But Hughes had answered his question with:

"It's simple. I don't want to die. That's all. The reason is always simple, Roy."

Hughes didn't believe Kimblee. Riza did. She made her excuses quietly, pulled up her hood, and disappeared into the sea of white coats.

Hughes didn't believe Kimblee because once the knowledge was there, it couldn't be ignored. The question couldn't be ignored.

The question: _what do I do?_

Roy suddenly felt very, very young. His teacher's words echoed: "you're still not ready." He saw Riza's face, measuring him. He heard himself from far away, "protect country," "serve nation," "alchemy for the people."

He was not ready to face this.

 _This_ is what it was like. _This_ is what Riza felt. To trust your government's good intentions. To hone your alchemy to help the people. To step in the front lines to end a long civil war. To doubt, and question, but push it away because there must be a reason. To ignore what you see and pour the last dregs of your pure faith that those at the top have the same goals as yours.

To discover that they never did. To discover that they used you. To find that your devotion and faith and alchemy-- your _naive dreams_ , your _good intentions_ \-- mean _nothing_ in the face of your atrocities. To look down at your hands, gloves pristine in a land covered in ash, ash, and ash.

What should he do?

What _can_ he do?

There is no way to go backward; but is there such a thing as going forward? Here? In this red desert blood?

Because that afternoon, he received his marching orders. He told his troops to gear up. A few days later, he learned about Armstrong. Roy's unit took down Regba. Took down Derifa, Salba, Kifarez. Kimblee cut a literal swath of destruction from one end of Ishval's capital city to the other. McDougal drew a huge array that drained all of Yoa's wells of water. Each State Alchemist got better at their job. Each State Alchemist got more creative, to end it all faster.

Last stage of the campaign, his unit met with Hughes', now commanded by Basque Grand, at regional headquarters. Their orders were to get a day or two of rest, resupply, then roll out. Major Mustang was marching north to take care of the Daliha region.

Hughes, who always had fresh intel from who knows where, told him Armstrong was still in the field, assigned to tear down the empty carcasses of the Ishvalan cities bordering Amestris. Word was that he was almost finished. There was speculation on whether he'd be court martialed-- the Armstrongs were an old Amestrian family with a lot of political clout. Hughes thought he would be court-martialed, but not executed. Roy disagreed.

"Major Armstrong disobeyed orders. He'll be recalled to Central soon."

"Disobeying orders is the smartest way to get away from this damn battlefield. Isn't that right, _Major Mustang_?"

It was meant to hurt. Roy didn't care. Hughes became a mean, twisted bastard when he couldn't face what was inside him.

Roy was-- Roy didn't know what he was doing. Marching forward. Marching deeper into ash. He dreamed at night of being buried alive under that ash, the weight of it cracking open his sternum, filling his lungs, mixing with his blood until his veins were clotted with blackened ooze, heart struggling to beat but never stopped beating. In his dreams, he never died. He was alive-- couldn't wake up, couldn't claw himself out, couldn't breathe, couldn't make his heart stop beating.

Disobeying orders. Was that the way forward? What was the point now, when the campaign was almost at an end? What was the difference now, between one hundred thousand lives and one hundred twenty thousand? It was all ash. Bloody, filthy ash that blew away in the desert sand.

Hughes had obviously been waiting for him as his unit approached regional HQ. He grabbed him as soon as he saw Roy and dragged them as far from camp as he dared. Told him about Logue Lowe. Told him about the Fuhrer. Told him that the Fuhrer ordered him _directly_ to return to his post and "continue the extermination under Colonel Grand's command." Captain Maes Hughes. Atheist. Who had no use for a religion forsaken by its god. Who brought Logue Lowe to the Fuhrer but looked away when the Prophet was executed.

The smartest way to get away from the battlefield.

Disobeying orders. Neither of them had, even after the truth revealed itself. Roy, he-- he hadn't had time. He got his orders after Kimblee left. Then orders after that. And orders after that. And each day filled with the details of life in the army, life on the march, life torching cities. They had to find water. Train the replacements. Eat. Sleep. There wasn't _time_ \--

he wasn't _ready--_

he didn't _know--_

And it was that inertia that damned him.

Hughes confirmed later, when they were back from exterminating an entire race of people and working to strategically position themselves to stage a coup, that there had been an order, directly from the Fuhrer.

Order No. 3066, which purged the military of all Ishvalan soldiers (their bodies were never found); ordered State Alchemists to the front (the Fuhrer had personally picked each alchemist); ordered the extermination of the Ishvalan people (it didn't state why).

Learning about Order No. 3066 did nothing to comfort him, or Hughes, or Riza. It just made them see again the _scale_ of the operation they were planning. Day to day life at Central or East City made it easy to focus on those regions only. But they needed to put out feelers to the West and South-- at the very least to figure out whether the armies there would join forces to oppose them. And to gauge the likelihood that Aerugo and Creta would take advantage of the coup to invade Amestris.

The North-- Roy watched General Armstrong closely during their joint training exercises and made oblique comments to see how she would react. It wasn't particularly successful-- Olivier Armstrong's reactions to anything he said was obscured by much she despised him. Riza and Havoc actually had more success on that front.

One thing was certain: the public at large didn't know about Order No. 3066. The news that Aerugo had been supplying Ishvalans with weapons was spread to all corners of Amestris. The claims of Ishvalan spies and traitors had infiltrated Amestris' military was blasted across newspapers and radios. The narrative that "both sides" had sustained "heavy casualties" in this "tragic war" was shoved down everyone's throats. The insular nature of Ishval and the seven years of civil war made it easy for citizens to believe that the reason why Ishvalans had all but disappeared from Amestris was due to the huge toll the war had on Ishval's land.

There was disease, reports said. The government announced that for the safety of the people, the borders to Ishval were closed. There was famine, reports said. The government urged citizens not to make plans to resettle in the Eastern region until the area had been rehabilitated. There were terrorists, reports said. The government assured citizens that the military was working tirelessly to catch the terrorists and bring them to justice.

Only the people who had been at the front knew the truth of what had happened in Ishval, and none of them were eager to tell stories about the piles of white haired corpses that crawled with maggots. State Alchemists who left the military remained silent out of shame. Kimblee was locked away because he'd killed five generals and their aides.

In short, Ishval was quickly erased from the public's mind and attention rapidly turned southwards to Aerugo and westward to Creta.

Which suited Roy just fine. With half of Central's officers focused on Aerugo and Creta and rival generals in the West and South preoccupied, it cleared the board for Roy to start putting his strategies in play.

Riza told him that "if the world can be expressed through equivalent exchange as alchemists claim, then for future generations to be happy, as payment, we must carry the corpses on our backs across a river of blood."

She invoked equivalent exchange: in order to create, something of equal value must be destroyed.

But she invoked it in reverse: Ishval was destroyed. Something of equal value must be created in return.

That's when Roy knew.

She had given him her back. Now, he would give her his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not certain what the consensus is in fandom as I am new to FMA, but it's not entirely clear to me that everyone knew the entire contents of Order No. 3066 when it was issued. The conversation Roy has with Hughes, questioning the military's excessive force, is what made me follow this train of thought.
> 
> I also searched the manga for panels that clearly show that the average Amestrian citizen (not military, not alchemist, not associated with Mustang's group, not hunting Scar) knew of Order No. 3066 or the genocide that took place, but I couldn't find anything definitive. The fact that the Amestrian dudes who try to take Scar for the bounty on his head don't care about the camp full of Ishvalans seems to indicate that while Ishvalans are rare, they aren't associated with a "kill on sight" order. The chimera guys were alarmed by the sudden appearance of Ishvalans, but they were also experimented on and we know many of these experiments took place during the war. There's another point in the manga where some people are worried about an Ishvalan terrorist attack, but seemed to calmed down quickly after Scar said Ishvalans weren't responsible for Bradley's train blowing up. &tc.
> 
> If someone can point me to canon that shows everyone knew the entire contents of Order No. 3066, before they marched off to war, please let me know. However, it won't change my story because I've already invested too much into the idea that most were never told that they were going to Ishval to wipe out all its people.


	3. Rain

The most important section of the tattoo he obliterated contains the following three formulas:

Deuterio et deuterio → He et neut

Deuterio et deuterio → tritio et ☉

Deuterio et tritio → He et neut

Translated, it states:

Deuterium + Deuterium → Helium + Neutron

Deuterium + Deuterium → Tritium + Hydrogen

Deuterium + Tritium → Helium + Neutron

In its proper chemical formula, where  _ n _ stands for neutron and the superscripts denote the total nucleons of the element and isotopes, this becomes:

²H + ²H → ³H + ¹H

²H + ²H → ³He + n

²H + ³H → ⁴He + n

Notably, Master Hawkeye did not include the equation that produces gamma radiation:

²H + ²H → ⁴He + γ

For each reaction, the following quantities of energy are released, where MeV stands for megaelectronvolts:

²H + ²H → ³H + ¹H (4.03 MeV)

²H + ²H → ³He + n (3.27 MeV)

²H + ²H → ⁴He + γ (23.85 MeV)

²H + ³H → ⁴He + n (17.59 MeV)

The values are obtained by calculating the mass lost in the fusion of the two reactants, using the formula for mass-energy equivalence:

E=mc²

Each fusion reaction has a distinct cross section, or probability that the reaction will take place. The cross section is a function of the reactants' relative velocities-- the temperature. The cross section for the fusion of deuterium and tritium is largest, but the fusion of deuterium with deuterium is perhaps the most important, as the isotope makes up approximately 0.015% of earth's hydrogen.

Ignoring, for the moment, the cross sections of each fusion reaction and taking the average MeV across all four yields an average release of 12.19 MeV.

What does this mean?

Say, for example, Roy wants to blow up a car-- just one car. It's possible, under certain conditions, to accomplish this with 1 kilogram of TNT. Can he accomplish this using the four fusion reactions instead? If so, how much deuterium does he need?

The calculation is as follows, where e denotes powers of 10:

1 MeV = 1.60218e-13 Joules

1 kg TNT, by industry convention = 4.184e6 J

7 Deuterium + 1 Tritium → 48.74 MeV

48.74 MeV = 78.09e-13 J

4.184e6 J / 78.09e-13 J = 0.05357e19 sets of reactions, or 535.7 quadrillion sets of the four fusion reactions are required to release the same amount of energy as 1 kg of TNT.

Since T is a product of D + D, assume that it is consumed and the reagents for the four fusion equations require only 7 D atoms.

0.05357e19 * 7 = 0.3751e19 D atoms necessary.

D makes up only 0.015% of all H. Need at least:

0.3751e19 / 0.015% = 25.00e19 H atoms

Hydrogen is readily available in water, and Roy is able to break the O-H bonds in water. Water has 2 H atoms in each molecule:

25.00e19 / 2 = 12.50e19 water molecules

The molar mass of water is 18.01528 g/mol.

12.50e19 molecules / 6.022e23 molecules/mol = 2.076e-4 mol

18.01528 g/mol * 2.076e-4 mol = 37.40e-4 g of water or 3.74 mg of water

Note that 1 gram of water = 1 mL of water

3.74 milligrams = 3.74 microliters of water

Now: One drop of water contains approximately 50 microliters.

Roy can blow up 13 cars using one drop of water.

This is why he's useless in rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: inertial confinement fusion.


	4. fire

The principles of fire alchemy are quite well known. It is, after all, one of the cardinal elements, along with earth, water, and air.

From a strictly material standpoint (i.e. not the "Fire is the Spark that Creates Life" standpoint), fire is a specific type of combustion reaction where fuel is rapidly oxidized, usually by atmospheric oxygen, to produce heat, light, gases, and other byproducts. Most importantly, fire is a combustion _chain_ reaction. Once the fuel and oxygen are ignited and consumed, it produces enough heat to set off more combustion reactions, which in turn produce heat for more combustion, and so forth. This chain reaction continues as long as fuel and oxygen are available.

There are several aspects of fire alchemy that have been exhaustively studied and are now considered foundational concepts in the discipline. Roy knows them by heart-- he could probably draw the arrays in his sleep. The basics of fire alchemy can be broken down according to the fire tetrahedron: fuel, oxidizer, heat, chain reaction.

Example:

Can you make a fire burn faster? Yes.

  * Increase the surface area of the fuel to increase its exposure to the oxidizer and so increase the number of reactions.
  * If the oxidizer is a gas, increase the concentration of the gas to increase the number of reactions.
  * Alchemists have also found different combinations of fuels and oxidizers which, with the addition of a catalyst, increase the rate of reaction. 



Can you make a fire burn hotter? Yes.

  * Make the fire burn faster to release more heat.
  * Make the fire bigger by adding more fuel and oxidizer, increasing the total amount of heat produced.
  * However, as a chemical equation, it is not possible to change the stoichiometric amount of energy produced in a given combustion reaction.



And so forth.

When Roy began his practical studies with Master Hawkeye, his teacher made him draw one array and work on it until control had been hammered into him. Constantly practicing the basic arrays was vital to any alchemist interested in working with fire-- minute changes could have enormous, sometimes disastrous, sometimes deadly, effects.

His first week, Roy practiced duration. The fire was no smaller than the flame on a candle, but he had to keep it lit for 1 second, 5 seconds, 1 minute, 1 hour, and every variable in between. Master Hawkeye set a timer behind him-- Roy never knew when it would go off. One memorable night, Master Hawkeye told him to keep the flame lit from sundown to sunup. No matter the duration, the flame had to stay the same size. A standard array for a small flame lasts about the same amount of time as a match-- extending duration meant supplying fuel at a constant rate. By the end of the week, Roy could control the duration of his fires down to the second.

Then it was the height of the flame. The width. The temperature at the base. The temperature at the tip. The temperature gradient. The type of fuel. The concentration of oxygen. The color of the flame. Then it was changing all those variables simultaneously as Master Hawkeye barked out combinations like a drill sergeant. Roy practiced his arrays every morning without fail. Because afterwards came igniting fire from a distance. And after that, burning, charring, incinerating, melting, vaporizing, heating all sorts of different materials. By the time Roy left to go to the Academy, he had a very solid grasp of the basics, good theoretical knowledge, and near-perfect control.

He dedicated a good portion of his free time at the Academy to teaching himself more alchemy and practicing arrays. Hughes often found him outside at the Alchemist fields, a bucket of water beside him as he chalked arrays into the packed dirt. The bucket of water (affectionately named Bucky by Hughes, who also painted a winking water droplet) was an ever present companion when Roy began working with a new array. And he tried, practiced, perfected, failed, discarded many arrays. Bucky got a lot of use, so much so that Hughes complained that Bucky the Water Bucket had become Roy's new best friend.

(Hughes being Hughes took matters into his own hands and introduced Bucky to his girlfriend Suzy the Watering Can.)

Over time, Roy had gotten quite good. But it wasn't enough to even attempt the State Alchemy exam. There were several reasons: he always had to draw an array on the ground; he couldn't wear the array using gloves-- activating it would blow his arm off; his fires never survived water; his fires plateaued at a certain temperature; his range was limited to a certain distance. All the other State Alchemists who worked with fire didn't work with the pure element-- they worked on applications. For example, one alchemist was improving the design of internal combustion engines for motor vehicles. Another worked with developing explosives.

To become a State Alchemist, Roy needed to bring something new to the table. And that something had to be for pure, elemental fire; Roy wasn't interested in applications. If nothing else, he wanted to overcome some of the physical limitations associated with the elemental aspect of fire alchemy.

So, he started where all fires start. The tetrahedron. Which meant delving into the other elemental alchemies, particularly earth and air.

Hughes teased him relentlessly (especially if his hair was singed). Roy was... dedicated, to put it lightly, to becoming a State Alchemist. It was part of that dream he had for Amestris' future, where alchemy would be used to bring prosperity to the people. He went through phases where he lived in the library, elbow deep in tomes regarding the properties of matter (earth alchemy), kinetic theories of gases (air alchemy), and thermal distribution (more fire alchemy).

Hughes himself never had the patience for alchemy, though he certainly had the aptitude. Roy had tried to rope him in multiple times, like some demon-possessed zealot luring innocent skeptics to ~~The Truth~~ their cult (they both knew The Real Truth: Roy wanted Hughes to be his research assistant). Even if Hughes had the patience/discipline/dedication for alchemy, he wouldn't have had the patience for the kind of alchemy Roy practiced-- which was to say full of stoichiometry, statistical analysis, differential equations, and a thousand dancing numbers.

Some alchemists emphasized the "mystic flow of life in the universe," following an older tradition of alchemy that shared some of the same metaphysical concepts that could be found in religion. Their arrays generally contained many more symbols and geometries associated with the spiritual and philosophical. Many medical arrays also contained these symbols, since Healing dealt with Life (though recent developments in the field seemed to trend towards more empirical designs). In Hughes' case, if he was forced at gunpoint to study alchemy, would have chosen the "equivalent exchange as a metaphor for the human condition" approach.

Roy did not have a mystical bone in his body. Instead, he played with Gaussian distribution like it was a harpsichord.

By the time he graduated, Roy had drafted a solid research outline that built on his time with Master Hawkeye and incorporated the knowledge he'd gained from sleepless nights scrawling left-handed equations. He thought it had potential-- it went deeper into the fledgling field of plasma physics and the theory might yield practical applications. When he went to visit Master Hawkeye, he had gone with the hope that his old teacher could lend him some insight. He had _not_ expected to hear that Master Hawkeye had completed his research during the first year of Roy's apprenticeship. And he had _not_ expected to find that his teacher's flame alchemy was actually something completely different.

It did not take long to decode the tattoo. The equations were elegant, the array was simple. But if flame alchemy could be compared to a loaf of bread, then Master Hawkeye's notes were a recipe that said, "282 grams rye, 2 tablespoons cocoa, 142 grams molasses, 2 tablespoons vegetable oil." The flour, water, yeast, salt, proofing time, baking time, baking temperature, shape of loaf, all of it-- Roy had to figure that out on his own. In truth, looking at the tattoo, it was difficult to even determine the _type_ of bread it was supposed to be (a bastardized variation of pumpernickel).

It took Roy _three years_ to master flame alchemy because he was faced with the following problems, none of which were answered by his teacher: how to create the conditions necessary for fusion; how to control the amount and direction of the energy released; how to use the array.

In those three years, Roy had several moments of doubt.

He had no doubt whatsoever that Master Hawkeye's theories were correct. What he doubted was whether they were physically possible to create on earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not my headcanon that Roy is a scientific savant who invents nuclear physics (flame to fusion is a very big jump). It is, however, my headcanon that Roy, once he sets his sights on something, makes it the focus of his entire life.


	5. family

Hughes, Roy decided, was a bastard. Here he was, out in the Alchemist field with his hands covered in chalk dust, his hair _not_ singed, surrounded by small craters of exploded dirt, working tirelessly to improve the lives of the people of Amestris while Hughes stood ten meters away, saying completely unhelpful things like "genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration!" "come on, Roy, put some more sweat into it!" "can I bring Sophie tomorrow to watch?"

Roy took the high road and ignored him. "Do _not_ bring Sophie tomorrow, I will burn your favorite slippers."

"But who else is going to carry Suzy?"

Roy did his breathing exercises-- he drew his basic fire array and worked through each drill Master Hawkeye taught him, fire flicking from short to tall to red to green to warm to excruciating with each exhale. It calmed him. This was the fourth new array-- one of his own invention-- that had figuratively blown up in his face and he couldn't figure out what went wrong. The goal was to increase the amount of plasma generated without increasing the temperature of the fire. Theoretically his array would ionize more gases _without_ having to introduce the headache of a magnetic field.

Roy was lost, staring back and forth between his equations and the chalk. Hughes was blessedly silent-- Roy _really_ needed to concentrate, he was so close he could feel it--

This was, of course, the moment that Hughes chose to upend the bucket of water on him, making Roy roar in frustration (though from Hughes' point of view, Roy looked more like a hissing cat).

"Come on. You're not going to get anything done on an empty stomach. Let's meet in half an hour. You haven't met my dear friend Detry yet!"

Roy stomped off the field (he almost tripped on one of the craters), pointedly ignoring Hughes and mumbling angrily about Werhm's coefficient of ionization.

As soon as he walked through the barracks, his stomach made embarrassingly loud gurgling sounds. All right, fine. So he was hungry. And dusty. And covered with chalk. The shower and putting on his new Quinna vest _did_ make him feel better, damn Hughes.

With Detry-- Hughes had been "casually meeting for coffee and helping her re-catalog the archives" for about two weeks. The fact that Roy didn't tell Hughes that Detry was already in an exclusive polyamorous relationship was, he decided, appropriate revenge for all the heckling Hughes subjected him to. Besides, for all he knew, Hughes was just making friends. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Hughes. He was specializing in Investigations & Intelligence, after all.

Anyway, Detry seemed to appreciate the extra help and found Hughes' antics entertaining. Roy hoped she'd tell Hughes she wasn't interested soon, because the other option was for Tomas or Muschetta to deliver some Strong Words to him.

They went to an open air cafe where Roy ordered an aperitif, then went for bruschetta, a light funghi risotto, spring greens with figs and fresh feta, and sorbet for dessert. Hughes rolled his eyes, ordered pork chops to spite Roy, and Detry ordered pesto farfalle with chicken, watching them with amusement writ large on her face.

Before Hughes could launch into raptures about the wonders of the archives, Dentry looked at Roy.

"Any luck with the alchemy?" she asked.

"Not much so far. But, I believe I'm making progress."

"Did you ever consider talking to Pol?"

"I can't."

"Ah," she said with understanding. "Well, if you ever need to send along a message, I can help."

Hughes was conspicuously silent, his eyes sharp and tuned in 100% to their conversation. He gathered that Pol was likely an alchemist (Detry); Pol had illegal dealings (Roy); Pol's illegal dealings were serious enough that any communication had to be mediated through at least two parties (Detry); Pol had some connection with Roy's world (not a very helpful clue, since Roy's world encompassed a lot of things); Pol might engage in illegal activities, but Pol wasn't a dark alchemist (Madame Christmas had vetted Pol); and most surprisingly, Detry was part of Roy's world (how much she knew, Hughes would have to sift through his prior conversations with her).

All interesting information but Hughes, unlike Roy, knew what to prioritize.

"You didn't strike me as the type to lead someone on," he said very casually.

"When did I lead you on?" she asked, frowning. "You asked me if I could help you find some declassified intelligence files-- that you needed them for a big research project. It was bad luck that files were being re-evaluated for archival."

"True," he paused. "But you brought coffee! Twice!"

"Because you looked like you were going to fall asleep and start drooling on all the papers."

"But you told me I could come by whenever I wanted!"

"Because you said you needed more files for research- the archives aren't open to just anyone. I was trying to make things easier for you."

Hughes opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened his mouth.

Roy chuckled. "What did you tell me the other day? 'An intelligence officer must never lose themselves perfecting their cover; adjusting actions based on clear-headed analysis of the situation is the most important--'"

" _You_ led me on, you bastard," Hughes said around a huge bite of pork chop.

"Me? I was being a supportive friend," Roy delicately ate his risotto.

"Should have figured-- two timing-- I wondered why you were letting me off so easy--"

Detry smiled sweetly. "Roy, maybe you should come spend some time in the archives. There must be something useful for your research there. I could get Tomas to help."

Roy choked on his water.

"That's a very kind offer, but I think I'll manage."

"Who's Tomas?" Hughes had a dangerous gleam in his eyes, made all the more ominous by the light reflecting off his glasses.

"No one--"

"My husband--"

It was Hughes' turn to choke.

"He's a well respected mathematician, I think Roy took one of his classes," Detry continued blithely.

"The one that Roy always went to office hours for? And then he heard--"

"The very same," she nodded, expression serene. "Muschetta laughed for hours when she got home."

"Wait, I thought you were married to Tomas."

"I am," she paused, then seemed to come to a decision. "Muschetta is my wife." 

It was a bit unnerving to have their intensely focused, undivided attention on him while he was mid-swallow. Roy was giving him The Look while Detry had one eyebrow raised.

Roy only gave him The Look when it was about his family. Roy was _extremely_ secretive and protective-- for very good reasons-- of his family, who were for the most part a group of sex workers and fringesexual people who came and went. (Honestly, it was a bit confusing to Hughes. Sometimes the two groups intersected, oftentimes they didn't, but everyone fell under the umbrella of "adopted by Madame Christmas and therefore Roy's brother/sister/ither." Roy's family also explained a lot of things about him, such as why his native tongue was coded speech; why he could be so two-facedly charming; and why he was so stubbornly, naively determined to "protect the people of Amestris" when from Hughes' point of view the people of Amestris were protected just fine, civil war notwithstanding.)

What Dentry had just shared was significant; apparently being Roy's friend conferred a huge amount of trust. Then again, Hughes had no doubt that if he ever betrayed Roy's confidence, Roy would set Hughes' bed on fire to gently roast him like a suckling pig, then send Detry and her spouses gold trimmed invitations for a festive supper with rice pilaf, lightly steamed asparagus, and honey-baked Hughes.

Never it be said that Hughes feared The Look. The best defense was an aggressive offense.

"We should all have dinner together sometime! I would be honored to meet the geniuses able to reduce Roy to wide eyed stuttering," Hughes replied. "You know, the first time I took him to a club, I really wanted to shock him. He has such an innocent face!"

Roy rolled his eyes and grumbled into his salad.

"Imagine my surprise when one of the dancers jumped down from the bar and latched onto him, dragging him to the back room. His reputation was solidified that day."

Detry looked at him. "Freddy?"

Roy sighed and nodded. "Freddy."

She burst out into peals of laughter. "What did she do?"

Roy sighed again. "Threatened to tie me to the chair until I answered all her questions on how I was doing, whether I was eating enough, the usual," Roy wilted. "It was a very long conversation."

Hughes nodded. He came back to the barracks with his clothes all askew, broken zipper and missing a few buttons with lipstick traces and his hair wild."

"Freddy's idea of a 'good cover.'"

"It did the trick," Hughes said mischievously. "We were all extremely impressed."

" _You_ try walking six blocks with one shoe, holding up your trousers. She wouldn't let me use a belt-- said it would 'ruin the effect.'"

"I thought you took a cab."

"No, another one of her _brilliant_ ideas. I had to look 'hot and sweaty' by the time I got back or it would 'ruin the effect.'"

"If it makes you feel any better, Merence did the same to me and it was worse. I thought Tomas and Muschetta were going to kill me when they saw us. I was trying to explain that it wasn't what it looked like, I wasn't cheating on them-- they let me go for a good five minutes before they cracked and started giggling. I was about to start crying and begging for forgiveness, but they'd been in on it from the beginning."

Hughes blinked rapidly. "That's something… special."

"I think it's a military initiation thing," she waved for her check.

"I think it's a stupid thing," Roy grumped.

It was fascinating-- Roy was usually very smooth and polished (unless he was yelling at arrays). But in the presence of family, he apparently regressed to a nine year old. Hughes needed to make more Dining with Detry plans immediately.

"I have to get back to work. It was great catching up, Roy, good luck with your alchemy. Hughes, I still expect you to show up to help with the files. You can't leave a job half done."

Hughes snapped to attention-- as much as one could snap to attention while seated-- and saluted. Detry rolled her eyes, then gave them both an affectionate smile.

"Oh, and Hughes--"

Detry looked sideways at Roy. Roy gave a very, _very_ slight shrug while he finished his sorbet.

Then, the universe smiled on Hughes and bestowed him a great gift. The clouds parted, Hughes managed to slip his meal on Roy's tab, and Detry said:

"How does Friday at 7 work for you? I'd like to introduce you to Muschetta. She could give you some tips on your research paper."

"Friday at 7 sounds great," Hughes said warmly, standing to shake Detry's hand.

"Roy, you'll be there?"

"Yes. Should I send some of my papers to Tomas?"

"No, he won't have time to look over them. Student exams are coming up."

"Wine?"

"Red. I think a pinot noir would be good."

Roy nodded. They didn't shake hands.

"I'll see you both later. Hughes-- don't be late."

When she crossed the street and was out of hearing range, Hughes raised his eyebrows.

Roy looked up at the sky. "I don't know if I'm going to regret this."

"Pol?"

Roy grimaced. "Plausible deniability."

"You know I'll figure it out sooner or later."

"I know, but don't go fishing for this one. Pol keeps a lot of people safe."

Hughes looked at him, the _so why are you saying Pol's name in public?_ coming across loud and clear.

Roy returned the look but with double the sarcasm. _Not a real name_.

"Just making sure," Hughes said.

"I know. Thanks."

"Ready to go back to the field?" Hughes thumped Roy's back, making him choke on his water again. "Maybe you'll get it this time."

Roy's narrowed eyes promised retaliation. Hughes just gave him a wide, shit eating grin.

"Yes. Let's go."

The reminder of _who_ Roy wanted to protect and _why_ he wanted to protect them firmed his resolve.

Later that day, he had his breakthrough. It was a small breakthrough, but a breakthrough nonetheless.

\--

Detry died in Ishval. What an archivist was doing on the front, Roy had no clue. The reason didn't matter-- she was dead.

When he and Hughes were in the early days of strategizing, Hughes said that they _ needed _ to make full use of Madame Christmas' vast network to further their goals. It would undoubtedly give them an advantage, and they needed as many of those as they could get. Practically everyone who could have been an ally left the military.

The State Alchemists, the soldiers, the officers-- they all faced their actions in Ishval. They all asked their own version of: what can I  _ do _ ; what  _ power _ do I have-- one pathetic human against a force of hundreds of thousands, against the force of  _ State Alchemists _ ; is it even possible to make  _ any _ difference in the midst of this slaughter?

They concluded that the answer to all those questions was nothing; none; no. The only thing they could do was to decide that they would no longer contribute to it.

It was as Kimblee said: the moment they put on the uniform of their own free well, they knew they might have to kill. If they didn't like it, if they didn't want to kill, they should not have put the uniform on in the first place.

The only recourse was to take off the uniform, of their own free will, and choose to never kill anyone else going forward.

With all possible dissenters gone (or secretly investigated and executed), the military was left with officers who thought Ishval was justified; ignored that Ishval happened at all; didn't care that it happened so long as they climbed the ranks; thought Ishval was a great strategy that they should use again; didn't dare criticize Ishval out of cowardice and fear; were hardened by Ishval so completely their cynicism was granite.

Officers, and new cadets.

Despite all this, Roy hesitated. When he joined the military, he worked hard to distance himself from his family and community-- they already dealt with enough scrutiny from the police, on top of which there were always hate crimes, rape, every spectrum of violence. Adding the machinations of a coup would make their lives that much more dangerous.

Hughes became furious with him. Said if Roy was just going to eat oatmeal when he came to Central, Hughes didn't see the point of spending money going out to restaurants at all. Said that if Roy had become so used to eating hard-tack, he may as well not visit Hughes because Roy would be a terrible guest who couldn't appreciate Gracia's cooking.

Roy countered that not everyone liked spicy food like Hughes. And Roy _was_ going to visit Hughes and he _would_ enjoy Gracia's cooking, but he didn't want to bring Klein and Lilly with him because Klein would probably try to help in the kitchen then end up slicing his finger open, and Lilly was allergic to apples. To which Hughes replied that it should be their choice if they wanted to visit Hughes or not, they were his friends too.

In the end, it was Chris who smacked sense into Roy. Said that her some of her people had been in the intelligence game before he was _born_ , so he could forget about his illusions about protecting everyone. And the others-- if they wanted to help, they should help, however large or small or dangerous the role. They were adults and could make their own decisions. Roy was an idiot and hypocrite if he turned them away under some non-existent idea of keeping them safe.

Then she pulled out the big guns: before he went to Ishval, he wanted to help the country and protect its citizens-- _all_ its citizens. Now, he was so focused on Ishval, had he forgotten why he'd joined the military in the first place?

Ishval was destroyed. There was no going back. He could only keep going forward. He had to complete the cycle of equivalent exchange and build something of equal value. And just as he hadn't destroyed Ishval on his own, he couldn't build its equivalent value on his own either. It was hubris to think he could.

Sometimes Roy really hated being an alchemist. Or rather, sometimes he hated that Chris was his mother and he would always be her toddling son. She knew that all she had to say were those two magic words and he'd immediately lose the argument.


	6. hydrogen bomb

Some facts Roy knows thanks to flame alchemy:

One drop of blood contains about 2 drops of water. Roy has about 26 kg of TNT for every fresh drop of blood shed. 26 kg of TNT is more than enough to blow up an Ishvalan house.

The "interrogations" with burning he conducted with Dr. Knox had nothing to do with fusion, just fire. The only time fusion was involved was to determine how quickly Roy could incinerate someone.

If you go to a crematorium, they will tell you that it takes two to three hours at 760 to 980 degrees Centigrade to cremate a body.

Roy can cremate a body instantly. He can burn a body past recognition in two seconds. "Cremation" is easier because it's total destruction, doesn't require much control. Actually burning a body beyond recognition but preserving its bones and teeth requires control of the fire's temperature and surface area.

A list of hydrogen-rich materials, all of which Roy has used at some point at Ishval:

  * Water (H2O)
  * Food 
    * Wheat flour: Cn(H2O)m, where 200 ≤ n ≤ 2500
    * Other starches like rice, potatoes, maize: generally (C6H10O5)n, where 40 ≤ n ≤ 3000
    * Sugars: C12H22O11, C6H12O2, CnH2nOn
    * Cooking oil, lard, butter: very generally CH3(CH2)nCOOH, where 2 ≤ n ≤ 28
  * Drink 
    * Milk: combination of water, lactose, fats
    * Beer: combination of water, sugar, barley, ethanol (C2H6O)
    * Wine: combination of water, sugar, acids, ethyl acetate (C4H8O2)
  * Other sources 
    * Linen, cotton, hemp, paper: (C6H10O5)n
    * Urine: water, urea (CO(NH2)2)
    * Ammonia: NH3
  * Any hydrocarbons: methane, ethane, propane, butane, etc
  * Any plant life contains sugar, water, cellulose (C6H10O5)n



If Roy is really, _really_ pressed for water, he can theoretically extract it from mineral hydrates such as gypsum (common in sedimentary rock), talc (common in metamorphic rock), mica (common in granite), and clay minerals. However, if Roy is trying to extract hydrogen from stone, they are probably facing much, _much_ bigger problems. It would be more efficient to use the water/lipids/sugars present in his own body instead.

Setting off the huge explosions he became famous for in Ishval is actually the safest form of flame alchemy for the practitioner. The alchemist stands from a distance; the array deconstructs molecular bonds to extract hydrogen, then separating out the deuterium; initiates reconstruction with a snap for fusion. By the end of the war, Roy could demolish an entire city sector as he had a line of sight.

He's not sure if he's allowed to take comfort in the fact that he was still not as breathtakingly destructive as Kimblee. It's the same rationale that former State Alchemists use to console themselves: at least I didn't kill as many people as the Flame Alchemist.

Riza is familiar with this line of thinking also. Soldiers and officers tell themselves they're not bad people: they don't have kill count second only to State Alchemists; they aren't snipers who shoot in cold blood.

The explosion of fire everyone sees in flame alchemy is due to the combustion of hydrogen gas with oxygen. Deuterium is only 0.015% of all hydrogen. The other 99.985% is normal hydrogen, which ignites immediately thanks to the immense amount of energy released by fusion. Roy doesn't have to do anything to create the intensely hot, extremely visible flames.

The average, 70 kg male has about 42 liters of water in their body. That is enough to create more than 11.2 kilotons of TNT.

Roy has wondered if this would qualify as human transmutation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context, per wikipedia: The Little Boy atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, exploded with an energy of about 15 kilotons of TNT.


	7. faces

The first couple weeks he worked with Riza were the hardest. For all that she was forthright and unflinchingly honest, Roy didn't know what she actually thought of him, as a person, not as the Flame Alchemist or her superior officer. He didn't know if she saw a difference between who he was, the things he'd done, the alchemy he practiced, the rank he held, and the goals he had. All these things are part of a person, but it's not the sum total of who he is.

To be fair, he didn't know what he thought of her either. She appeared to him in fragments-- the quiet 12 year old; the even quieter 14 year old; the 16 year old full of hope; the 19 year old sniper; the screaming, burning, fever delirious woman; and now the 20 year old adjutant holding a gun to his head. They were six different people, three of which were dead, one he'd wanted to protect, one he wanted to forget, and the one standing before him now, somehow a sum that wasn't quite the whole.

Roy didn't change his comings and goings. He'd established his reputation; it was turning out to be an immensely useful cover and he wasn't going to do a sudden 180. Riza gave him pointed looks whenever he came in late or said he was leaving early, but she never challenged his authority. She just sidestepped him, neatly and with the air of someone who found Lieutenant Colonel Mustang's work ethic a minor nuisance-- noted and set aside as irrelevant.

When he gave her his back, he also gave her his power. If they were going to see this through, he had to give her his complete trust (just as she had given hers, four years ago) so she could keep them on the right course.

He told her about their lack of allies. The reason for his reputation. His conversations with Hughes. Madame Christmas and the network. The officers that came in and out of his unit. Told her they were keeping Fuery. That the goal right now was to get promoted as quickly as possible, put themselves in a strong position to take Bradley down; then the  _ real _ work would begin. But before any of this, he needed a team who would get them to Central.

Riza understood her role; since he was going to continue his comings and goings at the office, she had to be the one to put the team together and run their day to day operations. Roy had to delve into the muck of military politics so they could keep moving forward. He needed to understand the landscape and players; Roy was keenly aware that he was, compared to the old careerists, extremely young and inexperienced. Others who'd been in the game longer were eager to take him down. Hughes already told him that they considered him an arrogant upstart.

Roy wasn't completely certain how this would all play out in day-to-day office dynamics; her stepping in and basically usurping his position as commander of the unit could be received by other officers in many ways-- most of them not good. But Riza surpassed his expectations. The first day, she showed up on time; when he strolled in half an hour later, the officers not-so-discreetly looked at Riza and rolled their eyes. Riza just went up to Roy's desk, told him she was reporting for duty as first lieutenant, and handed him her paperwork.

Roy made a show of feigning surprise.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye. I thought you were going to be posted in the South; there's been reports of terrorist activity there."

"With all due respect, sir, I requested to be posted in the East. When I start a job, I finish it."

"Fair enough. I would've guessed you'd had enough of this sand-- though I suppose it's not as bad as it was on the march."

"It's grown on me, sir."

"Well, Lieutenant Hawkeye, as you can see we're  _ very _ busy rehabilitating the land and running patrols," Roy sighed as if this was a huge burden (it actually was). "It feels like every other week another terrorist group appears; we could certainly use a sniper of your caliber. Still interested?"

"Of course, sir."

"Then welcome to the team. It'll be just like the old days."

"I hope not, sir."

Roy laughed, the one he knew made him look like an airhead.

"Excellent! I see you've already chosen your desk. Here are some files to get you started," he dumped a box on her desk. "I need to head out; it's always good to see a familiar face."

"The same to you, sir."

"If you have any questions, the others can show you around. I won't be back until this afternoon!" he waved as he exited.

He's not sure exactly what Riza said, but when he came back that afternoon, there was no question that the unit was hers. Piecing together various rumors, he got the impression that Riza implied they served in the same unit (they had not), she had saved the Lt. Colonel's life (she had), he had been a decent officer in the field (debatable), and that despite her personal distaste for him, the shared experience of combat created mutual respect.

So they became… the odd pair, to say the least. All officers, current and past, did concede that the Lt. Colonel gave good orders on their field operations, even if he did like to show off with his explosions. And the fact that Lt. Hawkeye could make him appear at the office with some semblance of consistency and make him do  _ some _ work was attributed to the "saved his life" and "shared experience of combat." He might whine and groan about the stack of papers Lt. Hawkeye gave him, but even he gave into her implacable stare.

A few days a month he even arrived on time, left on time, and chipped away at the backlog of reports. Then he seemed to reach his limit and disappeared with a few reports left in the stack. She became the only person who could wrangle him into actually working, which greatly enhanced her reputation and greatly damaged his (the Flame Alchemist was a vacuous skirt chaser who was only promoted because he was lucky enough to have Lieutenant Hawkeye run his unit).

There were attempts by other officers who tried to convince her to transfer to their team. She wouldn't have to work so much, they said. She would get due credit and be recognized for her work. They'd get her promoted. But Riza would look at them with the piercing gaze that said "you weren't in Ishval" and politely refuse. For those who had served in Ishval, her piercing gaze said "why would I leave the commander who had the fewest casualties?"

The ones she was  _ really _ interested in were the ones who said they didn't understand why she would be an officer to a mass murderer. Those, she left dangling. She'd let Hughes and Roy know and they investigated whether this officer could be an ally in their plans for a coup or if they were just saying it because they disliked Roy.

Many people disliked Roy. Hughes complained that sometimes he thought Roy was actively alienating people they might otherwise have been able to connect with, to which Roy replied with several points: first, many already resented him for making Lt. Colonel at the age of 24; second, they already tried the Hero of Ishval approach and it got them exactly where they didn't want to be; third, he made for an excellent litmus test; fourth, if these officers were willing to approach Riza with concerns that Roy was a genocidal maniac, it didn't necessarily mean they were willing to put their lives on the line for the cause. And if they  _ did _ want to join in the fight to reform the system, their dislike of Roy should be a minor impediment-- Roy wasn't going to be a general who gathered everyone under his banner. Working towards the same goal was what was important.

It was, as it turned out, how Roy caught the attention of Lt. General Grumman. In a bizarre twist of circumstances, Madame Christmas told him that Grumman was asking questions about Roy-- in fact that requested Madame Christmas to assemble a dossier on him. She asked him how he wanted to play it-- but he'd have to make a decision quickly before Grumman became suspicious.

Neither Roy nor Chris wanted to have Grumman suspect were any relation to each other.  _ Chris _ did some of her own digging trying to find leverage: she hit the jackpot when she discovered that Riza was Grumman's granddaughter. She told Riza, who didn't know how to feel about the news. It certainly explained why the General was taking such a sudden interest in the life of one lieutenant.

Hughes wanted to make a big gamble. He wanted to have Riza approach Grumman and lay all their cards out on the table. He had a good feeling about Grumman, especially since some files he'd dug up showed Grumman had for some reason fallen out of favor with the main contingent at Central and was essentially banished to the East. Grumman hadn't made any significant moves to try to return, and during Ishval, he didn't do more than he was ordered to.

Roy and Riza did  _ not _ want to lay all their cards out, particularly Riza. Her history of trusting people had not turned out so well (though she didn't say as much, Roy could hear it in the silence).

Roy had doubts because just because Grumman wanted, presumably, to make sure Riza's CO wasn't a lunatic didn't mean he would be sympathetic to their cause. With Hughes' information, the best they could actually conclude regarding Grumman's actions with Ishval was that he held a grudge against Central for banishing him in the first place, and perhaps he hadn't made any moves to return because it was futile to try.

Ultimately, Riza decided to approach Grumman. Her mother's birthday was coming up and it wasn't implausible to believe that she learned of Grumman when her father died. She didn't contact him out of resentment that he didn't try to find her or help her family; now that she had gone through Ishval, she wanted to know why it happened.

"He might already know about your childhood," Hughes pointed out.

"If he had, he wouldn't ask for a complete dossier on Lt. Colonel Mustang," she replied.

"Or he might know some pieces and would use that knowledge to cross check the information in the dossier," Roy added.

"This plan would be putting most of the risk on you, Lt. Hawkeye. He has a reputation of being very sly and clever," Hughes said.

"I'm willing to do it. I  _ want _ to do it, because I have other questions I want answered," she said, voice firm.

"When is your mother's birthday?" Hughes asked.

"In five days."

"I'll see what I can do about getting his aide to schedule a meeting," Hughes said.

"Jian's close friends, try him first," Roy said. "Lieutenant, please fill out a meeting request form. I'll back-date it and--"

"You don't need to back-date it, sir. If he's as clever you say, Major Hughes, he also won't be able to contain his curiosity."

"Point," Hughes said. "Do you know what you want to say?"

"I'll think about it tonight."

"If you don't mind, Lieutenant, there are some questions I'd like you to ask."

"Hughes, that's not--"

"Not outright questions, but just some information I'd like, if you can get it."

"I can try, but I can't promise anything, Major."

"Of course. Roy, I'll have Plana call, 4pm, date at the theatre."

"Lieutenant--"

"I'll have a headache, Lt. Colonel."

"Good. Anything else, Hughes?"

"If I think of something, I'll call tomorrow morning," Hughes hung up.

Riza disconnected the headset Fuery gave her.

"We'll have to ask Fuery to test those again, I'm worried they're not secure."

"I can ask him, but I'm confident they are. Sergeant Fuery said it's the same as phone tapping, and the microphone that's been added connects to yours."

"I don't like that we have to be in adjacent phone booths with extra equipment. Draws too much attention."

"Then we'll just have to make sure everything gets relayed through you, sir. I'll give you a requisition form before Major Hughes calls you."

"More paperwork," Roy sighed.

He hesitated, looked briefly at Riza.

"Lieutenant," he began. Then didn't know how to continue.

Riza seemed to understand what he wanted to ask anyway.

"I'll let you know if I need anything. Lt. Colonel."

"Good."

They parted ways shortly after.

Perhaps the thrill of planning to overthrow the government isn't always in the danger and subterfuge. Each plan they make and execute simply binds them closer to each other. Roy can feel parts adjusting, slowly making grooves to fit two others.

In fusion, two forces drive the reaction. The first is electrostatic force, which repels nuclei from each other. The second is nuclear force, which attracts nuclei together. The fusion of two nuclei occurs when the nuclear force attracting them is greater than the electrostatic force repelling them.

Sometimes Roy imagines two atoms close to each other, held in constant tension because they are repelled by the electrostatic force, but then attracted by nuclear force, the movement repeating over and over until something happens where the two nuclei fuse or are finally pushed away.

Roy knows from growing up in his family-- when you live a life with two faces, your world exists in that constant state of tension. When the worlds come close, you are living in the same space and place and time. The feeling of division is overcome and it seems the things that were secret or shameful or forbidden in one world are now accepted and integrated in the other.

But when the worlds repel, the differences in each reality cannot be more stark. Your sister was strangled to death, body dumped in an alley by a man who looks just like that, fancy suit and freshly shined shoes with a gracious smile. How is it possible that people don't know she's dead? How is it possible that she's dead, died at the hands of a man who looks so polite? Who is going to tuck you in and sing you lullabies now?

Joining the military, Roy put as much distance between his two worlds as possible. Now, the feeling comes back: there's the knowledge that he has another face, with it comes another world.

It doesn't matter what Riza thinks of him as a person. Because now that the three of them are tied wrist to wrist in this action, they'll all have new faces, which might never fuse back into one time and place.


	8. chess

Roy will never, ever tell this to Riza, but there are some days when she reminds him of Kimblee. Not necessarily in the substance of their respective moral values, but in their execution of it. Kimblee and Riza are both absolute-- there is no doubt and there is no fluidity. Their lives are defined by certain axioms. They build their moral code from those axioms and follow its implications to its complete conclusion. They hold themselves to an absolute standard. It's not a matter of accountability; it's more that neither of them know how to be less than who they are.

Riza established her moral code during Ishval. The girl he met asking him why they were killing citizens and the woman who made him swear an oath to her _on the lives of the Ishvalans he'd tortured_ were completely different people. The former was still clinging to the hope she hadn't followed the wrong people. The latter decided she would follow no one but herself and would never apologize for making her own calls. Once she committed, that was it. If Roy were fond of metaphors (and he's not), he would say that it's fitting for a sniper. Once you have someone in your sights, you commit to either killing them or not. In the end, there is no one who can truly force you to pull or not pull the trigger. You make that call.

He has no idea when Kimblee established his moral code or how it came about, but Kimblee also chose his path with eyes wide open and never swayed from it. He didn't lie or try to live like a fugitive after he killed the generals. He admitted to it openly, though there was something at the tribunal that was odd. The court never asked him _why_ he killed the generals. In fact, they seemed to take great pains to avoid the question. Kimblee smiled through the entire thing as though _he_ was the one with all the power, for all that he was sitting with his hands in stocks.

Kimblee went to prison without protest and one of the favorite topics the guards like to hash over and over amongst themselves is the fact that Kimblee hasn't broken, after all this time. He's still in dark confinement, never allowed out of the cell, always sitting in shadow, nothing to hear but the sound of his own voice and the footsteps of every shift change. He should have gone completely insane by now. Some of the most hardened criminals break in less than two weeks of the dark silence.

Every time the guards finish talking about how creepy it is when they're on Kimblee's rotation, how unnerving his smile and calm and _politeness_ is, they come to the same conclusion: he's an alchemist. Alchemists are already at least thirty percent insane. A _war_ alchemist has to bring that number up to fifty-- just look at the Silver Alchemist. Crazy bastard. So any alchemist who went to Ishval was already half cracked-- obviously the war split his noggin' open all the way. They all agree: what in that cell isn't a person, it's one of those unnatural things alchemists create that look like humans on the outside but have emptiness instead of a soul.

Roy… takes all of these conversations with a grain of salt; the prison guards, after all, give _him_ wide berth also. If the topic of Kimblee comes up, there's a fairly good chance that the Flame Alchemist will be mentioned too. That's a conversation that gets derailed quickly because of the five hundred contradicting stories from what seems like every corner of Amestris: people who were at Ishval, or knew someone who was in Ishval, or has a friend who was in his unit at East City, or was in the same year as him at the Academy, etc, all saying different things about who he was/is/might be/could be/should be.

But it just goes to show how different Kimblee is. Kimblee, whatever these people think of him, is _one_ person. Just like Riza, when people talk about her, is _one_ person. What you see is what you get and you can trust that impression. If people are surprised by Kimblee, it's because they refuse to see him-- they project their own values onto him and don't take him at his word, because surely he wouldn't _really_ take pleasure in annihilating thousands/make a soldier grenade fodder/admire doctors who stayed to save Ishvalans, whom he was also ordered to kill.

If people are surprised by _Riza_ , it's because they're blinded by their own expectations-- she's a serious, quiet, pretty young blonde in the military and they easily translate quiet as shy, serious as modest, and pretty young blonde in the military as "searching for a manly military man to marry." Roy finds it hilarious that people are _always_ caught off guard by him. All the different stories-- what each person chooses to believe _of_ Roy reveals who they are _to_ Roy. People who assume he's a lazy finger-snapping idiot are taken off guard when he displays absolute competence on the field. People who expect a hero are disappointed by the fool. Female officers are surprised he takes them seriously; male officers are surprised he _doesn't_ take them seriously.

He's always been this way-- it's normal in the world he grew up, where everyone was at least two people at the same time. Sometimes he's jealous of Kimblee and Riza and the way they go through the world without apology. Kimblee knows he doesn't march to the same tune as others and he _doesn't care_. Riza also doesn't march to the same tune. Case in point: their plan to return Amestris to a democracy.

Some people could see this as penance, contrition-- seeking forgiveness before the universal scales of justice. Others might call it repentance and conversion, where they've forsaken the old, corrupt regime to forge a bright new path and in so doing, lessen the magnitude of their crimes. A judge might even weigh their actions and decide that the good they did balances out the evil they unwittingly were party to.

Riza does not believe this. Riza will shoot Roy if he _ever_ begins to act in the hopes that a reformed government will pardon the blood on his hands. He's certain Kimblee would too: Roy is either doing this to bring true, principled reform to Amestris and he will follow it to his execution, or Roy is doing it because he wants power-- whether he'll use that power "for the people" or not doesn't matter. But he can't have it both ways.

Whatever the guards say, Roy doubts that Kimblee has gone insane. People like Kimblee, people like Riza-- they're too grounded in themselves; they know who they are and never lose sight of it. Kimblee is perfectly sane, just biding his time. For what, Roy has no idea. But at his tribunal, Kimblee looked straight at the Fuhrer without any fear; looked at him like they both knew who really held all the cards.

And Kimblee does not bluff. Just like he never lies. Before the war, Roy saw Kimblee's manipulation in action; it's the kind of manipulation used by people who have never been hypocrites. Kimblee and Riza approach people honestly, with absolute integrity (each flavored by their respective moral codes). They "manipulate" people by telling the truth (or, on occasion, omitting it). And they both hold deep respect for those who stay true to themselves-- the distinction between Riza and Kimblee being that Kimblee doesn't care whether that person is a mass murderer or a doctor. As long as they upheld their values to the very end, he respects them. Riza obviously does very much care if the person is a mass murderer.

The interesting thing, however, is that Riza is fine if the mass murderer (for example, Roy), continues to murder _for a just cause_ , so long as he knows he's murdering; and so long as he turns himself in once the mission is complete, facing punishment for his crimes with squared shoulders and head held high, excusing nothing, hiding nothing, justifying nothing.

There is some kind of strange righteousness to them both. In Riza's case, people do what she wants because want her approval and esteem. In Kimblee's case, decent people do what he wants because they can't believe a psychopath is more principled than them; it becomes a matter of conscience. Not decent people do what he wants because they think he's like them and they feel freer, vindicated, not alone. Whatever "manipulation" happens, it's fueled by each person's _reactions_ to Kimblee and Riza. It's not manipulation by circumstance.

Roy does not have righteousness. The closest thing to righteousness he's ever felt is his desire to protect his family. Roy may not be principled, moral, steadfast and true, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know himself. Roy knows himself very well. You have to know yourself-- all the shifting, changing, splitting and fusing parts of yourself if your second language is manipulation.

Kimblee's and Riza's methods-- Roy is being generous calling it manipulation. If he had to choose the one, most important thing his sisters taught him, it's that no one has control of their lives. Some people are lucky enough to be born in circumstances where life affords them some choices. But no one can escape the ever-spinning wheel of fortune. Things happen-- there is no good or bad, fair or unfair. There's just the present and what's around you. When misfortune strikes, it's not punishment. When fortune smiles, it's not a reward. It's beyond reason and beyond control.

The only thing you can do in life is to arrange things to tip the odds in your favor. And they showed him a lot of ways to tip impossible odds in their favor.

Growing up in a family where everyone has a story, where everyone is disposable in the eyes of the law and everyone knows someone who died, cornered and bloodied and for no other reason than the fact they exist-- it lends a certain perspective to life. Right and wrong are just octaves on a piano, where every tier of society simply plays a different scale.

Roy gives people what they want. Or gives people what they don't want, according to whichever is most advantageous for him. This means he _knows_ what they want-- or at least make a very good guess. Many times people want things delivered a certain way; most times people want it delivered in a way that reinforces what they already believe. Taking people by surprise has advantages, lulling people into complacency has advantages; it's just a matter of playing the right advantage at the right time.

Before going to Ishval, the instructors at officer school kept barking that "no plan survives contact with the enemy." Roy already knew this; war just put it in a different context. Roy was a competent officer because he knew how to adapt. Roy wasn't a brilliant officer because he didn't know how to give orders, and the best way to keep the odds in their favor was to have Roy go out in front of them and eliminate the enemy before they ever got a chance to eliminate him.

Orders-- Roy was fine with _taking_ orders, at least while he was at the Academy. Orders mean the situation is outside your control; it means everyone around you is in the same situation. It meant that during the Academy, it was second nature for Roy to gather favors to get out of latrine duty, skip classes but stay in the instructor's good graces, get the right attention to be transferred to the right officer. Hughes was his only competitor in that arena, which is why it infuriated him that the quiche he'd been promised at the cafeteria was charmed away by Hughes.

_Giving_ orders-- it's not so much the fact that giving orders meant that he had more control of the circumstances and had power over people. He'd lived plenty of that at home. Sex brings the ins and outs of power dynamics into sharp relief. It's the fact that this was the military, in a war zone, and the orders he gave were obeyed to the letter, without question. It's that the power was _complete_.

He was lucky-- incredibly so-- that he had officers who filled in the gaps for him. They made their own decisions and judgment calls. Some people might see it as an abdication of responsibility. In some ways, it was. If his officers had been less competent, less capable, Roy very well could have led them all to their deaths. But fortune smiled on him at an opportune moment and it wasn't an abdication of responsibility-- it was a restoration of agency.

At the end of the day, he ultimately determined the direction and gave orders only he could give. But the officer hierarchy in his squad wasn't a pyramid made of limestone blocks. It was like the flight of geese: the one at the front broke the first crest of wind resistance so the two following could fly more easily; the two behind flew slightly above the first to reduce the wind resistance for the next two following. Orders were relayed up and down the formation, keeping track of everyone, keeping directions cohesive.

Chris always told him that life has a much, much bigger imagination than any human could even comprehend. Those who made their way through life with absolute certainty were also the ones who capsized because they had too small a boat.

She also told Roy, when he came back from Ishval, that he needed to start playing chess. If he was going to lead a coup, he had to learn absolute control-- know when to use it, how to use it, and what to use it for. He was already more than adept with the opposite end of the spectrum but as a commander-- and a commander that soldiers would _choose_ to follow, he had to learn to use that absolute obedience as another tool.

She had to remind him-- most people didn't grow up the way he did. Most people grew up with structure, a family that contained the same number of people every day, who didn't die sudden, violent deaths. Most people grew up in a place where their choices in life were laid out in a menu: first they chose appetizer, then soup, then mains, then dessert, each course like a map that went from school to job to marriage to children. They would struggle if he gave them too much freedom and assumed they already knew how to get something done.

This wasn't war, where decisions were stark choices with instant results. This is a long game, where the choices he made wouldn't have immediate results; the situations would be infinitely more complex; no one had a manual detailing which tactical formations were best for which battlefields they faced. Fortune had smiled on him and he knew not to count seeing the smile again.

So he had to play chess. He would hate it, she warned him. But if he wanted to succeed, he would learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's a general perception in fandom that Roy is a master manipulator who's always thinking seventy steps ahead and has a head full of contingency plans to outwit his enemies. But what I saw in the manga and anime was him adapting and reacting very quickly to unexpected situations, finding a way to make the most of them which, honestly, I think is a very rare skill and a lot more useful.


	9. flame to fusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourself for a lot of hand-waving disguised as science.

Punctured liver aside, it felt _so good_ to let his alchemy _go_.

It was incredibly dangerous, drawing his array in blood. There's a reason why Roy's array isn't tattooed on his hands like other alchemists. For one thing, the tattoo ink-- and therefore the array-- would be deposited in his dermis, the layer of skin full of capillaries, sweat glands, collagen-- a multitude of organic compounds containing hydrogen. The likelihood that the array would draw deuterium from his body by dismantling the cells in his hands was very high; so was the likelihood of him setting the fusion reaction off _in_ his hand, therefore killing himself and everyone around him. His gloves prevented that from happening.

Then there was the spark which, depending what technique he was using, could be a variety of things. They could be literal sparks-- tiny incandescent particles used to start fires. Or electricity. Or lightning. Or plasma. Or photons. Or beta particles. Or gamma radiation. Or a magnetic field.

Here, all he had was Havoc's busted lighter. It was clear he needed to start from the beginning: with fire.

1 was simple-- spark from the lighter, array generated fire, fed it as much oxygen as possible. It made for a large fire that spilled around the edges of Alphonse's wall, the blasts of oxygen directing the flames to Lust. Roy cut the fire off after five seconds. Lust was barely scorched, knocked down by the force of the wind, not the flames.

He could have let the fire go longer, but his flame array wouldn't make it hotter-- that wasn't what it was designed to do. It had been _years_ since he'd used this method, the first he'd discovered in flame alchemy. His breakthrough, an eternity ago at the Academy: use fire to fuel the flame.

2-- the array hissed and crackled with blue light. Bare hand; he could feel the array activate in his skin as it generated a magnetic field. He used the field to send the spark from Havoc's lighter towards the ground, creating another oxygen-fed fire under Lust. More importantly, the magnetic field ionized the air around her. This fire was only four seconds long, despite the fact that Roy had used the same configuration as the first. Which was what he was looking for: Lust was surrounded by plasma.

The heat should have been unbearable-- the Philosopher's Stone must have been continuously healing her. The only sign she was affected was her gasps for air.

3-- he actually got her to shut up and the _real_ screaming began. He still couldn't risk setting off fusion by snapping his fingers; instead he used the magnetic field to turn the fire into a tornado of flame, keeping all the plasma contained to the area around her. Already he could tell that atoms were fusing: the fire lasted longer-- 6 seconds-- and was brighter.

4-- sent the spark into the plasma field. There was the telltale flash of pure white light followed by an explosion: fusion, and the fireball of hydrogen that came after it.

5-- she'd finally collapsed against the wall and her screams were ragged-- screams of a person in excruciating pain. After five seconds, the fire suddenly intensified before going out: the first signs of a fusion chain reaction.

6-- he barely paused before lighting the next fire. There was one second where he saw the brilliant red-- that was all it took for him to crush the magnetic field, creating a dense ball of plasma around the stone. Atoms were already fusing when he threw the spark. There was that blinding white light-- her face illuminated with stark horror-- then the reaction feeding itself as it broke down skin and blood to its elements. Her eyes were two spots of Philosopher Stone red, unnerving enough that Roy's control of the magnetic field slipped before he quickly restored it to the area immediately around her.

7-- Lightning. Roy didn't do anything, didn't send a spark. Fusion was reaching its ignition point, one step away from becoming a self sustaining reaction. A pressure wave rippled out the moment lightning struck. Roy stood back and watched, keeping the magnetic field wrapped tightly around the bright column driving itself towards ignition.

The alchemist in Roy was fascinated. He'd never made it to ignition point before-- hadn't even known if it was possible. And he wasn't even wearing his gloves-- just a busted lighter and the array drawn in blood. Was it the Philosopher's Stone amplifying both the homunculus' regenerating _and_ Roy's flame alchemy?

The Hero of Ishval listened to Lust's screams as she faded and dissolved into the column of light.

8-- she broke through, voice croaking and fingers stretching impossibly quickly towards him. Roy didn't think. He reacted. Drew up the best magnetic field he could to shield himself from the nuclear reaction, while he fed his blood to the array. He didn't see her needlepoint finger-- he waited for the moment she was close enough; waited until he knew that if he took himself out, he'd take her with him.

Even after he felt fusion begin, he kept feeding and feeding and feeding his blood to the array, even when his arm was _inside_ the growing sphere of light. Then everything snuffed out with a _boom_. The whole thing had lasted four seconds

There was a stillness, delicate and eerie, before she began to dissolve to dust. The stone dropped to the floor with a gentle chime and everything Roy had been doing to keep himself together suddenly fell apart as he keeled over, probably rupturing his liver.

But Riza was safe. And alive. Alphonse had saved her life, protecting her from Lust, protecting her from Roy's flames.

And Roy was obscenely happy.

It was the first time since Hughes' death that he felt so _alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the descriptions of the various flames are from watching the anime at 0.25x speed at least thirty times.
> 
> Also, I gave in and introduced an electromagnetic component to flame alchemy-- I tried really hard to make it work using heat only, but it's just not enough given what we've seen Roy do. I know a lot of things can be swept under the word "alchemy," but apparently there is only so much disbelief I am willing to suspend... when it comes to nuclear fusion. Make stones out of souls? No problem! Combine a girl with a dog? Totally believe it. Take two particles and squeeze them really close together until they combine and release energy? IT MUST BE AS ACCURATE AS POSSIBLE.


	10. Ness, pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of dialogue taken from manga and anime.
> 
> Trigger warnings: child abuse, mention of possible cannibalism, selling human body parts. Please let me know if you think I should add anything else.

Lust walked out of nowhere with that delicate click of her high heels, her dress and gloves obscured in the shadows of the rotting laboratory. Roy was hit with a sense of deja vu-- she carried herself like Ness. Ness, who had been Chris' best spy and completely, utterly ruthless with a sadistic hunger that was never satisfied. They don't know if Ness is dead or alive. She disappeared one day, but it's not uncommon in Chris' world that people disappear for years and then resurface. If Lust had brown hair instead of black, tan skin instead of Philosopher Stone white, and unnervingly green eyes, Roy would have shot her also.

Roy didn't shoot Lust's head, chest, and leg because he was the _Hero of Ishval_. He shot her because he knows how to recognize a sadist on sight, and he doesn't have the same hang ups other men seem to have about shooting women. Some of the most vicious people he's ever known are women. His sisters might be weaker and smaller than a john, but they're infinitely more clever. You can hide a lot when you seem helpless.

The key is not getting cornered and never being surprised. The key, Ness told him when he was ten years old and she sat there calm as could be, twisting his broken arm and telling him to stop crying, she was teaching him something important: the key is to see their intent and attack them before it happens.

For example, Ness saw Roy's intent. He wanted to steal her lighter. It was beautiful, covered in lavish engravings and he'd seen an old picture of his father, smiling and lighting another woman's cigarette for her (not his mother, Chris said this was before his father met his mother). He'd been eyeing Ness' lighter for the past few days and kept giving her those cute, bright smiles that made everyone think he was harmless. Ness didn't care why he wanted the lighter-- sometimes it helped to know a mark's motive, sometimes it was completely useless-- but she knew Roy wanted it; she knew all of Roy's smiles; and best of all, she knew Roy didn't know all of _her_ smiles.

Ness knew what Roy was going to do, but she knew something Roy didn't: she knew when Roy was going to do it. Because it was the simplest trap in the world and now here they were, Roy no longer struggling because moving his arm _hurt_ , watching her burn the photo of his father as she blew smoke into his face. Ness was taunting him with the story of who _she_ got the lighter from (a mechanic she killed by cutting his body into eighteen pieces with his own machinery, then selling the cuts for cheap to his mother, a street vendor Roy was never buying dumplings from again), when Chris walked in, glanced at the scene and said, "that's enough, Ness."

Ness shrugged and let him go-- Roy got in a good kick to her shins and jumped out of her reach before she could retaliate, then ran away. He sat at the top of the stairs.

"A bit much, even for you," Chris remarked.

"Better me than anyone else," Ness replied. Roy could _hear_ her smile meanly.

"Mm. Don't do it again."

"Or what?"

"Do it again, and you'll find out."

Ness sighed. "You never let me have any fun anymore, Chris. Your brother kicks it and sticks you with the brat. Why didn't you just give him to your parents?"

"Not sure why you're asking since you already know the answer."

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I didn't break anything important."

"I'm sending you the doctor's bill."

"Aww, Chris, come on. You know I don't have that kind of money. How about I make it up to you instead. It'll be like it was before."

Her voice was low and Roy heard soft wet noises. He made a face to himself-- adults were gross. There were some scuffling noises and whispering that Roy strained to hear. He bit his tongue hard because the livid broken arm reasserted itself.

"I have a bar to run," Chris said pointedly.

"Ugh, you're so boring."

"Someone has to cover the doctor's bill."

"Guilt, Chris? I thought you knew me better than that."

"Of course I do. How long has it been? Two, three months?" Chris' voice turned into that tone she used to pour more liquor and ask questions masked as sympathy.

"I'm leaving," Ness said sharply.

"Come back when you have the money and I'll get Carmen to babysit tonight."

"Fuck you."

"Usual place, 8 pm."

The door slammed.

Roy scrambled to get up, forgot his broken arm and fell on it. He tried to get up again but heard Chris coming up the stairs. She helped him up and didn't let go of his shoulders. Her gaze flicked down to his broken arm and then focused intently on his face. Roy could feel himself going red-- whether from trying not to cry or embarrassment from getting caught, he didn't know.

"Stubborn brat," Chris said affectionately. "How many times have I told you about eavesdropping?"

"Close a door first," he sighed, wincing as she gently took his arm.

"And what did I say about Ness?"

"Never let her catch me alone," he managed to sniff and sulk at the same time. "But I wasn't alone, not until Trynity left!"

"And when did Tryn leave?"

Roy looked at Chris stubbornly.

"This looks like a compound fracture. You should be crying in pain, you know," Chris remarked.

"It doesn't hurt!" he shot back without thinking.

Chris lightly moved his arm and Roy bit his tongue again. He looked up at her defiantly.

"You're angry-- that's good. Anger can take you far. It's your temper that's going to get in your way, always rushing into things."

"You were the one who said I should seize opportunities when I see one!"

"And did you see one this time, or did you see the lighter on the counter and Ness on the other side of the room?"

"I didn't know she could move that fast!"

"Liar," Chris ruffled his hair. "Let's call the doctor."

"I don't like Roland."

"Good thing you don't have a choice."

"Bertran knows first aid!"

"Bertie is on assignment tonight," Chris frowned. "I thought you were keeping track of the map."

"I am! But Roland is creepy!"

Roland was one of the few alchemists who was willing to help sex workers-- without demanding sexual favors as payment (it was well known that they were completely indifferent to sex). Chris found Rollie because they were one of the only alchemists/medical practitioners who performed top and bottom surgery. The payment for _that_ was a bit more gruesome-- the deal was that Rollie got to keep the parts removed. Apparently medical schools were willing to pay a pretty penny for fresh samples of reproductive organs.

Rollie probably wouldn't have answered Chris' housecall if they didn't owe Chris a favor they could never repay. Roy only knew it had something to do with Rollie trying to bring back a niece who'd died in the Civil War. Roy remembers a vague span of time (simultaneously forever and one day, like everything is for children) when angry government officials in blue and black and heavy boots (useless for sneaking-- even Roy knew this) patrolled their neighborhood, carrying a sketch of Rollie and asking everyone if they'd seen this woman.

It was the first time Roy found out that Rollie's "real" name was Helene, because the sketches the officers showed were of a woman dressed in fine clothes, hair in some elaborate wispy updo and a demure smile. When an officer squatted to Roy's level (always a sign that an adult wanted something from a kid) and showed him the picture, gently asking questions ("Have you seen this lady anywhere? She's a very powerful alchemist and could be very dangerous."), Roy didn't have to fake his confusion.

After months of Roy delivering food and weird smelling books to the tiny attic, Chris somehow managed to get the State Alchemists off their backs and business went back to normal. During that time Rollie, whose only companions were their memories, a few books, pieces of chalk and a child who delivered meals at weird times during the day, did _not_ answer Roy's nosey questions about the woman in the sketch and in self defense, began teaching him alchemy.

It was amazing. Alchemy was amazing. But the months cooped up in the attic must have taken a serious toll on Rollie, whose temper became shorter and more erratic. One time Rollie started breaking plates and throwing them at Roy, who gave as good as he got and used the array they'd been working on to transform the ceramic into little balls covered in spikes. After that, Roy didn't stick around much for alchemy, amazing or no.

Life debt to Chris notwithstanding, Rollie still demanded payment for services rendered. They reset Roy's broken bone and left the bill. It would still take a few weeks to heal, but better a few weeks than months. Thankfully, Rollie only asked very detached, clinical questions, most of which could be answered by Chris.

Later that night, Carmen came and read his favorite story, her voice washing over him like the warm bubble bath he had earlier.

He woke up to the smell of Ahmya cooking breakfast. When he got downstairs, four other sisters were already there, smothering him with affection at the sight of his broken arm. He really loved his sisters. Chris joined them soon after. Ness did not.

Roy watched Ness a lot after that, and not out completely out of self protection. Ness was a chameleon, but the guise she favored most was the same as Lust. He pieced it together as he grew older. The flowing hair and dress didn't matter much. What mattered was her slow walk (predator, killer, torturer), her voice (sadism masked as seduction), the light in her eyes (absolute power, absolute advantage, absolute intent), the placement of her hands (relaxed, no weapon).

Ness played with her food. Ness told her victims the truth because they would be dead dumplings anyway. Ness used anything and everything to corner her prey-- sex was often a good lure.

One night, a messenger came to the bar-- knocked on the hidden back door-- and gave Roy a piece of paper written in Ness' unmistakable hand. He was 13 now, not 10, and he was so, _so_ tempted to throw it in the fire because whenever she visited, she made his life a living hell. But it was always good to have her owe him a favor-- and this would be a huge favor.

He took two guns and extra rounds of ammo, collected Rollie and the emergency pack, and went to the warehouse district.

Roy wasn't stupid, he kept low when he opened the door, motioning for Rollie to do the same. Sure enough, Ness threw a knife (gun would be too loud). Roy collected the knife and entered.

Ness had a haphazard bandage wrapped around her chest that was already saturated with blood. As soon as she saw him, she hissed out "you little motherfucker," then didn't say much else because Roy shoved a stick in her mouth. Rollie started cutting open the bandages and it was bad. It was really bad. Roy took advantage of the opportunity by dumping isopropyl alcohol on the open wound-- which made Ness scream, a real guttural thing that rattled her chest and exacerbated the wound. For a few moments, he was tempted to take out his lighter and just set it on fire.

But Ness, the shitstain, read his intent and laughed hoarsely.

"Go on, Roy-boy," she sneered. "You'll never get another chance."

He shoved the stick back in her mouth. It gave him the opportunity to say in her ear: "And let you off so easily? It's much more useful for you to owe me a favor."

He knew it was the right thing to say because she looked at him like she wanted to kill him.

Rollie was already drawing arrays and barking commands at Roy for various instruments. Roy was grudgingly impressed that Ness managed to keep herself still-- he'd been looking forward to holding her down.

When Chris got to the warehouse at 4am, Rollie was smudging out arrays. Ness was half asleep-- Roy wondered if she ever let herself fully sleep-- when she opened her eyes and actually gave Chris a tired smile.

"Roy, take Rollie home."

He knew better than to argue when Chris used that tone of voice, despite the fact that he was _dying_ with curiosity to know what happened.

It basically came down to overconfidence. Ness thought she had everything under control; needless to say, she didn't. The bastard's posse somehow tracked them down and came after her. She managed to get a few of them, but some were still out there. Chris would have to tie up the loose ends.

Lust had some element of surprise, Roy gave her that. But she didn't make much use of it-- Havoc was shocked and lowered his gun; Roy was surprised this was the woman Havoc kept complaining to Roy about for having to cancel his dates because of work. She was _not_ Havoc's usual type; she was city suave and elegant, a woman who looked like she dated men far above Havoc's income bracket and thought going to the symphony was a perfect date. So that left Havoc's weakness: boobs.

Roy could see in the back of his mind how Ness would've lay her trap: a few accidental run-ins to lay down the groundwork of nascent attraction; maybe appearing at a few of Havoc's favorite lunch spots (he'd be in uniform); it wouldn't take long for Havoc to ask her on a date. Solaris had a disadvantage in that she would've had to cover the mark with high collared clothes, but perhaps that was part of the appeal-- that Havoc had caught the attention of a really classy woman. He usually didn't complain so much to Roy about missed dates.

Obviously she'd wanted information-- why she'd wanted information on _Roy's_ unit was a question for another time-- but he had a vague feeling of pride that Havoc was a consummate professional. No leaks.

But the fact she was there at all confirmed:

"Did you know Maes Hughes."

"Maes Hughes-- he was a good, intelligent man," she said in Ness' voice. "My only regret is I didn't kill him myself."

Roy didn't hesitate. Ness would've been proud. Beside him, Havoc hadn't moved-- hadn't even raised his gun.

"On your knees. You're going to tell me everything you know," he ordered, voice even. The first one who raised their voice was the one who'd lost control.

"I don't really feel like it," she replied and uncovered her leg.

Dark as the lab was, he could see the wound repair itself, lit up by red sparks. It crackled as the tiny, bloodless circle closed.

"And there's nothing you can do to make me," she said, voice sliding into that tone that said the game was getting started.

Two shots to her heart, one through her forehead.

See their intent, attack before it happens. Roy didn't think it would kill her-- Riza and Fuery together had emptied at least four clips in the other homunculus-- but he hoped it would make her react-- react and make a mistake. Havoc was _still_ looking at her dumbstruck with his gun down.

She took a step back, head bowed. So the bullets did have an effect, just not the one they were intended to have.

That laugh. Roy hated Ness, hated that he had Ness to thank for not flinching at that laugh. The homunculus straightening herself, haloed with red sparks. And she _did_ bleed from the head wound; her smile as she licked the blood trickling down her face made it clear she was not going to let them out of this alive.

But she hadn't collected enough information about him if she thought he was going to react to her mocking _Hero of Ishval_. Roy only saw the fat thing gleefully saying it was going to eat Riza and Fuery; only saw Hughes' coffin.

Watching her heal from being shot point blank to her chest and head seemed to shake Havoc out of his stupor and really drive home that she was

"A homunculus?" his expression one of disbelief and fear.

"You already know that much, Jean?" she asked, as though she was impressed he even knew the word. "I'll give you a nice little reward for figuring it out."

Then her fingers _turned into knives_ that she _plunged into her chest_ , opening up her skin and bone as though it was made of rubber. There were a thousand things bubbling in Roy's mind all clamoring for attention, but the only thing he could hear was Ness' voice laughing that the homunculus was reacting.

And showing them a huge, glowing red stone surrounded by delicate veins, the source that powered the hissing red sparks of her regenerative abilities.

"Do you know what this is?"

The stone looked alive. It looked--

"It's the Philosopher's Stone," she smiled. "Use the Philosopher's Stone as the core of life-- that's how you get us, the Homunculus."

Roy could, couldn't, did, didn't believe it. _It_ : that he was staring at an enormous Philosopher's Stone, that it was the nucleus powering these undying creatures. But there was no reason for her to lie. Ness _always_ told the truth after she was done playing.

"Monster," he spat. He needed her to tell him more. He had no idea what, just _more_.

"Such an ugly word," she replied, as though he was being gauche. Her fingers were still knife points. "We look like you and have five senses like you; we have emotions and care about our parents. We're really no different from you-- _humans_."

Time. Control. Intent. Action.

"You've told us all these secrets because you don't plan on letting us live," he said, confidence powered by anger.

"You're right," she said. "It's a pity."

Bait. He needed-- _something_ before she started her attack. Because when Ness got started she didn't stop _until she was finished_. Roy needed her to tell him more before he killed her first.

Havoc started backing up slowly, getting in position.

"The fact that you exist-- whose existence should be _impossible_ \-- and you're here to kill us means there's something important you need to keep hidden. Something more than your Philosopher's Stone."

She just smiled-- the silence all the confirmation Roy needed. Some silences, you couldn't tell. But he knew Ness, and he knew that look in her eye. The one that said he was right, and he was dead.

"I'm going to find out what it is."

Ness took a step forward.


	11. Grumman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up from Ch. 7.

"A potential ally and a coward, sir."

Roy looked up at her. If Riza were not Riza, he would have reserved judgment on "coward." She had compelling personal reasons for that assessment.

But Riza is Riza and whatever she might think of the man personally, she's able to separate it from their objective.

"He's an enthusiastic chess player," she added.

Roy's eyebrows went up. That… said a lot.

Working with Hughes and Riza, Roy's come to realize that while he and Hughes pick people apart to see what makes them tick, Riza doesn't do that. It's not to say that she's not capable; if pressed, she can give a full run-down of a person's strengths and weaknesses, their tactical skills and flaws, their moral character. She could be commander if she wanted to-- she would probably be a better commander than Roy for this operation.

But Riza doesn't want to be a commander-- not the commander who plays chess. She prefers being in the trenches because if her subordinates are going to get their hands dirty, she will too. She will never ask them to do something she isn't willing to do herself. And she has her own protective streak; she won't put the burden of killing someone on anyone under her command, not if she can help it.

_ We soldiers should be the only ones with blood on our hands. No one else should have to go through what we did in Ishval. _

Hughes gets a pass because Hughes tried. He did his best to end the war by bringing Logue Lowe to the Fuhrer-- she doesn't blame him for the fact that it failed. Surrender should have brought the slaughter to an end; those are the rules of war, in normal circumstances. And she learned of Hughes' borderline act of insubordination, refusing to take Lowe and his clerics out to be shot, despite Fesler screaming and foaming at the mouth for their deaths.

Fesler had his own reputation. If Roy had to guess, Riza was impressed that Hughes came out of Ishval with any semblance of a conscience at all. She recognizes in Hughes what Hughes recognizes in himself-- that he's not an intrinsically good person. He's good if the circumstances allow him to be. Hughes' strength as an intelligence officer is his weakness as a human: he's not like Roy who projects what people want to see. Hughes actually  _ becomes _ the people who are around him. Slides into their way of thinking and goes along.

The compartmentalization only became more pronounced after Ishval.

Riza gives Roy a free pass in the sense that-- he has enough blood on his hands to last a thousand lifetimes. And she has her own form of mercy: she doesn't blame him for not knowing, for being used. They both ended up following orders to the bitter end of the war. He thinks that burning her tattoo also went a long way towards mending their relationship.

Apparently, Grumman does  _ not _ get a free pass. Whatever he said in the face of Riza's precisely aimed questions must have fallen far short. Riza is succinct in her assessment of a person and sums them up in one or two sentences.

The debrief:

Introductions

  * He was surprised but glad to finally meet her.
    * Genuine.
  * He regretted not searching for her sooner. When he'd found out about her, he didn't know how to approach her, so he kept his distance.
    * 65% true.
  * There wasn't a day that went by that he missed her mother. She looked so much like her.
    * Lies, on both counts.



Riza's very effective, quiet voice that skewered everyone's conscience (Hughes' words, not Roy's-- though it was true):

  * Abridged, mostly focusing on hardships and the dark days after her mother's death. She briefly mentioned Roy as a quiet but kind presence against the oppressiveness of her father's house. And that he organized her father's funeral which she pointedly stated took place when she was 16, and that only three others attended. That her father had mentioned Grumman on his deathbed and she'd held out hope that he'd come.
    * It wasn't difficult to tighten her posture and make her already severe voice that much sharper. Hughes told her to gauge the old man's reactions-- it would reveal how much guilt he felt and consequently, how honest he would be in the conversation that followed.
  * She joined the army. Trained as a sniper. Served in Ishval. Killed innocents.
    * Use silences, Hughes said. People's imaginations tend to jump to the worst case scenario. Roy refrained from telling Hughes that Riza was already well versed in the language of silence.
  * Riza saw Grumman sag, looking grieved and careworn. Then she started her real offensive: Ishval.
  * Today was her mother's birthday. She wondered what she would think, knowing her daughter had turned into a killer.
    * Grumman bought it. Because everything she said was true.



Grumman

  * For various political reasons, Grumman was reassigned from Central to the East.
    * The topic being Ishval, he heavily implied the "political reasons" were rooted in his dissatisfaction with the Civil War.
    * Didn't say it outright, so what was implied was a lie.
  * Many generals in Eastern command died on the battlefield or by assassination in the Civil War. Grumman's posting there was not just banishment.
    * Setting himself up before his granddaughter's eyes as a war-worn old veteran, painting himself as a victim of the military-- that they were alike in that aspect.
    * Riza didn't know she was capable of being as angry as she was. Her high watermark was Roy; apparently Grumman surpassed it.
    * At Roy's expression of genuine surprise, she told him that for all his faults, he was not a _coward_.
  * Grumman was determined to bring an end to the bloodshed. He spearheaded the intelligence operation that ultimately led to the discovery of the connection between Ishval and Aerugo.
    * With his life on the line, Grumman used that famed intelligence to save his own skin. The plan worked.
  * Grumman thought that this discovery would shift the focus of the war to the South. But he miscalculated.
    * A deep sigh of regret. Riza knew what regret looked like and knew given what he knows now, Grumman would still make the same choice.
  * The Fuhrer took personal interest and came to the East.
    * Along with his extensive entourage of bodyguards.
  * The Fuhrer took command.
    * Grumman knew the complete contents of Order No. 3066 before it went into effect.
    * Roy looked grim, but it was as they had guessed. He, Riza, and Hughes weren't supposed to know about Order No. 3066. Grumman didn't know how much he'd given away with that one sentence.
  * Grumman remained part of the command structure in the East.
    * The Fuhrer may have taken personal command following Order No. 3066, but that didn't mean Grumman was totally powerless. He was a chess player with a supposedly uncanny intelligence. No one could have stopped the war, but Grumman could have helped some of the Ishvalan soldiers escape the purge.
    * But he didn't.
    * He'd demonstrated that he has connections with Amestris' underground. Roy, Hughes, and Riza didn't know it then, but they've since learned that there were many in the underground who'd saved Ishvalans and got them out of the war zone. Grumman could have supported their efforts. Anything would have been a help, especially medical supplies.
    * He still didn't.
  * He couldn't express how much grief he held, knowing now that Riza was on the front lines.
    * Hughes put even odds as to whether Grumman knew.
  * But he was certain her mother would never stop loving her, no matter what Riza had done. She had followed orders. The responsibility lay with the Fuhrer.
    * And not himself.



Conclusion

  * He hoped there would be no hard feelings between them.
    * Riza had a limit to what she could forgive. Grumman had blown past them.
  * If she ever needed anything, his door was always open.
    * To which Riza replied: "I want to change this country so Ishval can never happen again."
    * The ball was in his court.
  * He looked at her grimly.
    * Riza could see the calculations, all his chess moves laying themselves out.
    * Hughes was counting on the fact that Grumman, if nothing else, recognized an opportunity to grab power at very little risk to himself.
  * Grumman smiled. "Is that why you're working with Mustang?"
    * Riza just stared at him. For her, it was all Ishval. For Grumman, he would perceive the added weight of her mother's death and his absence from Riza's life.
    * Hughes was counting on the fact that Grumman had abandoned his family-- his only daughter-- once before. He was counting on Grumman not to do it again.
  * His expression turned serious again. "I loved your mother very much. She was the light of my life. There's not a day that goes by that I wish I had acted differently. You take after her so much-- once she decided on a course, she never strayed from it."
  * Riza nailed his coffin shut: "Then you know she would hate you today more than ever before."
  * He closed his eyes. "I know."
    * Hughes said that everyone, no matter how far gone, had one person-- one extraordinary person-- they wanted forgiveness from.
    * Grumman didn't want forgiveness from Riza-- he wanted forgiveness from her mother.
    * But her mother was dead-- Grumman didn't even know how she died or where she was buried. He couldn't make things right with his daughter, but he knew she would want him to make things right with Riza.
  * "It has been a heavy night, my dear. Let me give this some thought."
  * "Then there is nothing to say between us."
  * "You misunderstand me, Riza. I will help you, as much as I can. But how to help you-- this is not easy, what you want to do."
  * "I know."
  * Grumman gave a rueful smile. "You're very certain of yourself. Your mother was too. I like to think," he paused. "But it's too late for that."
  * "Swear to me, on the life of my mother, that you will do everything in your power to help me reach this goal."
  * Grumman paled.
  * Riza looked at him like she was measuring his soul. Grumman swallowed.
  * "Riza, I--"
  * "Swear it, or kill me. Those are your choices, General."
    * She didn't know it, but Grumman was seeing the ghost of his daughter, who demanded a similar thing from him years ago. He dismissed her outright, and the next day she was gone.
  * "I promise, on the life of your mother, on the life of my beloved daughter, that I will do what I can to help you with this."
  * "That is not what I said," Riza replied.
  * "It's the best I can do, Riza."
    * It was a rare moment of honesty for him-- Riza could see that. So she allowed it.
  * "Thank you for seeing me, General."
  * "I hope we can meet again, Riza. I would like to get to know you."
  * "Duly noted, sir. Permission to be dismissed."
  * Grumman sighed. "Granted, Lieutenant Hawkeye."
  * She saluted crisply and quietly shut the door.
  * Grumman looked heavenwards. "Your daughter is just like you, my dear. You would be so proud."
  * And sat in the silence of his office, staring out the window for a long time.



  
  


Hughes was  _ extremely _ impressed. "What do you think of transferring to Central, Lieutenant?"

"I think I will be more useful here, Major. I have confidence that the Lt. Colonel will keep on course, but I think the Lt. General will have to be reminded, on occasion, of his promise."

Hughes sighed. "I agree with your assessment. But think of all the other generals who will fall in line, in the face of your terrifying gaze!"

"I think the generals have fallen in line whether they know it or not, thanks to you, Major."

"Flattery!" Hughes sounded delighted.

" _ Hughes _ ."

"I'm already looking into Grumman's former allies. It's not promising-- whatever this political disagreement was, it was enough to break ties completely."

"Even though he discovered Aerugo's role in the war?"

"Some respect, but not enough for an alliance. Have you thought of how you're going to leverage everything Lt. Hawkeye just got you?"

"He'll approach me first."

"You think?"

"He'll think I'm easier to control. And I don't think he'll have the courage to face Lt. Hawkeye for quite some time."

"Not until he shows us that he'll make good on his promise," Riza agreed.

"Hmm. Then you'll have to be the one to initiate second contact," Hughes said. "He might resent the power you hold over him."

"No, Major. I don't think so. I think he truly is consumed by guilt with how things ended with my mother. As I understand from Madame Christmas, his wife left him shortly after the incident."

"You are truly an unexpected boon, Lieutenant," Hughes said reverently.

" _ Hughes _ ," Roy said sharply.

"What? There's nothing  _ happy _ about family dramas, but if it can serve to further--"

" _ Yes _ , Hughes, we all understand that. But given the fact that Lt. Hawkeye learned of the existence of her grandfather  _ a week ago _ , it would be polite to show some restraint."

"It's all right, Lt. Colonel. I don't mind. I agree with the Major. This has stirred some painful memories for me, but reminding myself that it will help the country makes me feel that childhood pain was not for nothing. There aren't many people who can say the same."

"Very true," Hughes replied softly.

"Anything new on your end?"

"Not much. Things might be escalating in Intelligence. Most dissenters in Central have been rooted out-- there's talks of beginning investigations in the East. Other officers have pointed out that the area is still barely livable-- our ranks are still thin and no one wants to get posted out there. They'll probably hold off, but you need to build your team soon, Roy, and get their loyalties locked down."

"We'll make it a priority, Major."

"Thank god you have Lt. Hawkeye. The rumors I hear-- what exactly are you  _ doing _ out there?"

"What are the rumors?

"What  _ aren't _ the rumors!?!?"

"When's your wedding?"

"No. I told you that's a solid line and you promised not to break it."

"Hughes, we have to meet at some point. The wedding is a good pretense."

Hughes was quiet for a moment.

"Bachelor's party."

"And Lt. Hawkeye?"

"Do you still have short hair, Lieutenant?"

"She could pass. Your sisters could help."

Roy groaned. Riza looked at him curiously.

"I've never met your sisters before, Lt. Colonel."

Roy looked at her in alarm.

"Is he doing that face?"

"I'm not entirely certain what you mean, Major, but I believe the Lt. Colonel is making 'that face.'"

"The one where he can see his life turn into a carnival of embarrassment."

"Yes, Major, Lt. Colonel Mustang is making 'that face,'" Riza smiled, far too amused.

"It's settled then! Bachelor party at--"

" _ Not _ there. You have your rules, I have mine."

"Fair, fair," Hughes conceded. "Lieutenant, know any good places a man can spend his last day as a devilishly handsome bachelor?"

"In fact," Riza said slowly, "I think I do, sir."

"Excellent!" Hughes said the same time Roy said "What?!"

"I'm good friends with Lt. Catalina, sir."

"That's Gracia at the door! You two, don't have too much fun without me!"

Hughes hung up.

Riza stared at her headset for a moment. "Does he always do that?"

"Ah, that's right, I should have given this to you the first day," Roy hastily scribbled something into his notebook. "Memorize those and when you're done, I'll burn them."

Code words. Good-bye the not-so-obvious "high alert."

"We'll have two sets-- one between the three of us and another for the team. Lieutenant, I'd appreciate it if you could draw up a list."

"Understood, sir."

"I'm late for my dinner with Garbo, she's probably gotten started without me," Roy grumbled. "I won't be in until noon-- could you finish my requisition forms? Thanks!"

Riza sighed. Garbo was one of their head hunters and none of her tips had panned out so far. To be fair, it wasn't her fault. There really was a huge difference between those who were dissatisfied, perhaps even gravely disturbed with what had happened in Ishval, but weren't willing to risk treason. Riza could only hope the next crop would be more promising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote: I am posting chapters as I finish writing them (thus the myriad of typos), while the ideas are still in my head and I have time to get them down. Going forward, I likely will not have time to do anything but work and sleep on weekdays.


	12. The Quiche That Started the Coup

"Yo! I'm Hughes!"

"Yo. I know."

"This is the part you say your name."

Roy looked pointedly at the name embroidered on his uniform.

"Is this because of the quiche? It's because of the quiche, isn't it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Listen, if I'd known you'd traded two weeks of latrine duty for it, I wouldn't have taken it."

Roy narrowed his eyes. "Somehow I doubt that."

Hughes grinned. "Okay, okay, I still would've taken it. It was just too delicious to resist! The golden, buttery, flaky crust, the delicious eggs and spinach-- you know, Miller has a special way of baking it that makes it irresistible."

Roy did not grip his pen tightly to create a giant black inkspot on his paper. That was what people who admitted they'd been outwitted did. No-- Roy continued to write in his flowing script about the revolutionary introduction of radio communications during the Second Delphine War.

"I think the key is the way Miller whisks the eggs. They're so much fluffier, the quiche doesn't taste so heavy and flat like the ones you'll find at Avery's Bakery--"

"Hughes, what do you want?"

"Just wanted to make sure there's no hard feelings between us," Hughes lied, the lying liar. "It was an honest mistake-- really-- it has nothing to do with how you stole Bantham from right under my nose three days ago."

"Bantham is her own person who made her decision using all the information available to her. _I_ had nothing to do with it," Roy replied loftily. "In fact, it's very sexist of you to imply that she has no agency in choosing her partner."

"And that information just _happened_ to include tickets to Lucretia's Concert at Grand Carnivale that have been sold out for two months," Hughes nodded.

"What can I say, I'm a cultured man."

"Listen-- I don't care about Bantham," Hughes leaned in. "I want to know how you swung it."

"Swung what?" Roy flipped a page in one of his books.

"The tickets! Scalpers were demanding 12,000 cenz the day before the show! I know you don't have that kind of money."

Roy smiled and finally turned his attention to Hughes.

"How much do you want to know?"

"Ooooohh, you bastard," Hughes said with a gleam in his eye. "That's how it's going to be, is it?"

"How _is_ it going to be?" Roy picked up another book. "Information doesn't come for free, _especially_ not when it involves latrine duty."

"Just give me a hint who your source is."

"Mmm," Roy scanned the index.

"I can get Miller to make you an entire quiche."

"Tempting, but no. Besides, I'm not going to eat an entire quiche in one sitting."

"Two weeks of latrine duty."

"Better, but no."

"Come on Mustang, help a guy out! She said they were seats in the second row!"

"I'm a patron of the fine arts."

"Right," Hughes watched Roy for a few months, silent. "Feingold's Compendium on the Alchemics of Fire."

Roy looked up, considering. It would be nice to have a copy, but, "I've already read it."

Hughes' eyebrows went up. "You're a very interesting person, Roy Mustang."

"Thank you," he said graciously. Winners must always be gracious in their victories.

"I'm going to find out."

"I wish you the best."

"I'm very persistent."

"An admirable trait."

"You understand this means escalation."

"I thought we agreed there are no hard feelings."

"Of course! There are no hard feelings-- this is just a friendly conversation between friends," Hughes said with a shit eating grin. He stood up to leave. "It's been a pleasure talking to you, 'Yo-I-know.'"

"Likewise."

Hughes started towards the door when Roy called his name in a serious voice. Hughes turned around.

"If this is a friendly conversation between friends, we are keeping family out of it."

Hughes was a great believer in taking risks-- with big risks came big rewards. But something about the way Roy was looking at him made him nod, equally serious. Hughes had a very good network built at school, but Roy and his tickets had made it clear _he_ had a very good network everywhere else. And Roy's retaliation for Hughes taking a quiche-- a quiche!-- demonstrated that whatever Hughes might learn, Roy would know ten times more. This was a game; Hughes would keep it that way.

"I agree."

And with those fateful words, the Friendly Conversation Between Friends began-- an information war the likes of which would never be seen again at Central Amestris Military Academy.

To say that it was a strange war would be an understatement. Most people didn't even know there was a war going on-- only that Hughes' already overexuberant nature seemed to triple overnight, and Roy's already charming persona became a dazzling specter. Anyone who encountered Hughes or Roy came out of the conversation feeling like they had been blitzed by a piñata (Hughes) or steamrolled by silk scarves (Roy) with no idea what they'd been talking about or agreed to.

Hughes and Roy didn't keep score and even if they did, anyone who watched would've had no idea how they calculated wins and losses. They both just _knew_ . The only person who was not fooled was the intelligence instructor (for obvious reasons), who equal parts amused and exasperated by their competition. Berenice would really have to take them aside one day to teach them about _subtlety_ , but… every day was not the day. Getting involved would only mean _she_ would start to be on the receiving end of their blinding sideshow, trying to win her favor by showering her with increasingly well written essays and excruciatingly enthusiastic class participation.

Their shooting instructor was already exhausted by how helpful they were (every week there was a group of students cleaning the class rifles looking like they had no idea how they got themselves into this situation and desperately trying to find a way out, only to return the next week acting as though they'd been shot in the face with confetti) and how completely unhelpful they were (the group somehow became an after-school club for those who wanted to hone their skills, which snowballed into a certain someone not only charming the club president to register the club as a team for sharpshooting competitions but also fundraising for impressively stylish uniforms, which meant all the shooting instructor's weekends and any adult social life were _gone_ ).

The two years Roy and Hughes were at the Academy saw an unprecedented rise in students' class spirit, an unprecedented rise in teachers' coffee consumption, and bursts of new school clubs popping up like unwanted mushrooms (which unfortunately became part of the Academy's culture and turned into some kind of mandatory facet of every student's social life). One of them, or both of them, even managed to convince the principal to hire a music teacher _for a marching band_.

All of this happened as though orchestrated by some unseen hand(s)-- as though overnight every student had been visited in a dream by the Ghost of Silken Scarves or the Spirit of Dancing Piñatas, who instructed them to form a ~~covenant~~ club for their interests, sponsored by unwitting instructors who had no idea what they were getting themselves into (and were unfortunately not visited by a vision of their future-- the Death of Social Life).

There were also side skirmishes involving more quiches, apple pies, friendly outings one could only enter with exclusive tickets, battles for information or tips on the other's movements, information networks who did not know they were information networks, and so forth.

It was a foregone conclusion that Roy and Hughes would become best friends-- the consequence of taking the aphorism "Know Thine Enemy" and applying it to their Friendly Conversation Between Friends.

The rise in school spirit was especially interesting because underneath the wide smile and seemingly effortless charm, Hughes tended towards being cynical and Roy tended towards being secretive. Hughes, in his darker moments, saw that rise as evidence people could be convinced to do anything under the right circumstances; Roy's unique upbringing created a natural divide between himself and the rest of the Academy. He flit like the butterfly he was between all the different student groups but kept to himself, devoted to studying flame alchemy. The nature of their Friendly Conversation, instead of making them insiders, made them outsiders.

So it was also, perhaps, a foregone conclusion that Roy would share his naive dreams about protecting Amestris to Hughes. Because one thing that Roy found upon entering the Academy was that not many people actually joined the military with the desire to protect the people. Some were there because they came from a military family: they could trace their lineage back to the founding of Amestris or somesuch vaunted tradition. Others because the money was good and there were good opportunities for career advancement. Others because all their friends joined (and those friends joined because all their friends joined in a positive feedback loop).

But a very large reason was that this was Amestris: this is just what Amestrians do. There were plenty of other options. A person might a have a particular interest (medicine, automotives), seek in an apprenticeship (alchemy, automail), run a business (restaurant, retail), specialize in a trade (woodwork, sewing), or simply live in a certain region (farming, mining). For those who didn't fall into any of those categories, the default was to join the military. Roy was something of an oddity, leaving his apprenticeship as an alchemist to join the military.

His decision couldn't be attributed to any one factor. There was the obvious: his desire to protect his family. There was also the fact that many of his sisters came from war torn regions where their lives and livelihoods had been destroyed; they came to Central in the hopes of building a new life in a prosperous, safe city, only to find the city was completely different from the town they hailed from. Strangers were polite but not friendly. There was no town watering hole where you could ask around for a job. People didn't welcome you into their homes, give you a hot meal and a bed to sleep in, knowing you would pay their hospitality forward. With no friends, no family, and very little money, many didn't know what to do.

The tipping point, the reason why he left at age 16, was the death of Namari.

Namari had been in the family since he first came to Chris'. She had, for whatever reason, taken him under her wing when he was a child. Chris was a good mother to children who could speak in full sentences, and an even better mother to temperamental teenagers who could talk back; toddlers, however, were a completely different story. Roy's parents had died when he was three. After a month of being shuffled around, he finally arrived at Chris', who had no idea what to do with him.

Namari essentially raised him from ages three to eight. When he was nine, she got married and left Central to live in the South, away from the Civil War. She still visited them whenever she was in Central and Roy wrote to her often.

In truth, what happened to her was an isolated incident. She lived far from the border with Aerugo, the Civil War hadn't come anywhere near the city she lived in. She and her children were in a busy shopping area one day and a terrorist set off a bomb, killing her, her two children, twenty six others, and wounding several. The government said it was a lone agent unaffiliated with any group but in Roy's mind, it just showed how insecure, how unsafe Amestris was, how badly it needed to be protected. Her death hit him hard. He made his decision at her funeral because suddenly, all of his family was in danger. In danger because they weren't protected by the police and in danger because they weren't protected by their borders.

So he left, and became a soldier, with that single-minded devotion to protect Amestris and therefore, his family.

Strangely enough, thinking of the realities of war made him feel closer to his sisters.

_In this profession, you never know when you'll wind up dead in a ditch somewhere, like a piece of garbage._

He knew, much more than most, about winding up dead in a ditch somewhere, like a piece of garbage.

Roy didn't go into any of this with Hughes-- for all Hughes knew, Roy had been born fully formed as this manipulative and odd patriotic quiche-lover.

Hughes joined the military because it was just what you do. He was very intelligent but didn't have a particularly strong interest _in_ anything, so didn't apply that intelligence _to_ anything. The military was fine: he'd probably go to war, it was practically a rite of passage in Amestris. Hughes also didn't have any particularly strong beliefs, other than a tendency towards cynicism. He was rootless where Roy was rooted, purposeless where Roy had too much, too big, too ambitious purpose. Hughes could read people-- it was probably the single biggest contributor to his cynicism. But Roy, this strange amalgamation of two faced, manipulative genius and genuine patriotism (or rather, what Hughes perceived as patriotism), was something he'd never seen before.

The issue is that double-speak, manipulation and burning desire to protect people do not really go hand in hand. Manipulation is, by definition, the act of _using_ people for your own ends. Being good at manipulation gives most people a heady feeling of power and superiority-- to stand above the ignorant and blind as you moved them around like chess pieces. With Roy, however, Hughes never saw that power trip. It was just… a fact of life? But not in the cynical, malevolent sense. The people Roy manipulated, Roy still saw as people. It was as though Roy thought of this ability the same way other people think of people who are bilingual: a useful skill but not a manifestation of incredible cunning or intelligence (this attitude made a lot more sense when Hughes got to know more of Roy's family and childhood).

And that-- was something really special.

So it was a foregone conclusion that when Roy, despite having the second highest body count in the genocide of Ishvalans, despite having the eyes of a murderer, despite being _used_ by the military like the dogs they all were-- when Roy was _still Roy_ where it counted most-- and declared that unless _someone_ chases after pipe dreams, nothing will ever change, Hughes backed him then and there.

This is why Amestris has Miller's golden flakey crusted, delightfully fluffy spinach quiche to blame for the coup.


	13. the board

Roy loses to Grumman playing chess because he is _horrible_ at playing chess. This sends Hughes into paroxysms of laughter. Even Riza can't help but smile.

"Well, Chris said you needed to learn. Now you can get free lessons!"

"This is a valuable opportunity, Lt. Colonel," Riza says a little too earnestly.

She's developing a sense of humor. Clearly Roy needs to keep her and Hughes as far away from each other as possible.

"Did he teach you how the pieces move?" Hughes snickers.

"I _know_ how each piece moves, thank you very much Hughes," Roy says, genuinely annoyed. "Anyway, this works in my favor."

"Everything does," Hughes says blithely.

"He'll consider me his protege-- a student and his teacher."

"An opportunity to pass his knowledge down to you?" Riza asks, humor dampened.

"Possibly. He doesn't want me to surpass him-- he has too much ambition for that. But at the very least, he'll become invested in seeing me--seeing _us_ \-- do well. Having the Hero of Ishval in his camp bolsters his political standing."

"Walking a tight balance there, Roy," Hughes says.

"It's one I'd have to walk anyway; better someone we have leverage over than another general."

"I agree," Riza says, voice firm.

"But the fact that he's fallen out of favor puts us at a disadvantage. It might lead to more scrutiny if people here at Central think he's trying to maneuver himself for a comeback."

"It's too early to know. We'll see how this plays out."

Hughes sighs. Of the two of them, _Hughes_ is the one who can actually play chess and knows its strategies. Roy doesn't see much of a point. Certainly Grumman will try to use him-- but Hughes and Grumman have the same blind spot all chess players suffer from: control.

Ishval made Hughes more controlled than ever. He has plots within plots, contingencies for contingency plans, and his life is more rigidly compartmentalized than ever. Despite the fact that he mentions Gracia all the time on the phone, it's only in one context: how beautiful she is, how wonderful she is, how she looks like an angel and how she makes delicious quiches.

Roy knows Hughes' relationship with Gracia is much, much deeper than that, because no one can control their nightmares. He doesn't know how much Hughes has told Gracia about Ishval; it's possible he hasn't told her anything at all. Yet she's still with Hughes. It's true everyone has masks, but everyone also needs a place to call home, a place where they feel safe enough to look at a mirror. Whether they are honest about what they see in the mirror is a completely different matter; whether they see the image clearly is a different matter also.

One of Roy's sisters said that home is the place you can look at your reflection. Merence said that sometimes, it's an empty public bathroom where no one can see you cry. For a very, very long time Merence could not bear to look at her reflection because who she saw on the outside was not who she was within. Her outside had a perpetual five o'clock shadow, an adam's apple, and a flat chest covered in hair. Her outside had a deep voice that sounded nothing like the voice she was meant to have.

Merence never told Roy all the details of her story; Roy understood she never would. Namari took him to task when he was six or seven for asking Ahmya so many questions that she started crying. He didn't mean any harm, and Namari understood that. But she explained to him that everyone has a boundary. Some people's boundaries are larger than others, some people's boundaries aren't as strong as others-- it was his responsibility to respect those boundaries where they were. His questions had brought back memories of a very painful time for Ahmya (Roy had been asking about the scars that covered her back and legs).

He didn't quite understand what Namari had been talking about-- he was still a child. He learned: by trial and error, by watching, by following Namari's example. She had a special way of knowing when to stop and when to push. (There was also the fact that Ness always, _always_ pushed Roy without mercy and sneered at his boundaries.) Namari told Roy to apologize to Ahmya. She gave him some money to buy fresh egg custards, put some warm milk on a tray, and told Roy to take it upstairs. Ahmya's room was on the third floor.

Roy was very, very careful not to drop anything. The tray was too large for him and quite heavy-- he stumbled and almost sent everything crashing down midway up the second flight of stairs. By the time he was in front of Ahmya's door, his arms were shaking with the effort of keeping it upright. Namari told him to knock but he had no hands free and it was rude to kick the door (Rollie said once when he kicked the door to give them their books).

He hesitantly called Ahmya's name through the door. She answered, eyes red and puffy, and took the tray out of his hands immediately and enveloped him in a tight hug. Roy started crying (Ness said that boys don't cry but Namari said that everyone cries and there's no shame in it and Namari knew everything in the world while Ness only knew how to be mean so Roy didn't listen to Ness) and said he was sorry, he didn't mean to make her remember bad things, he wanted her to be happy, he loved her very much.

They drank lukewarm milk and ate egg custards while Ahmya taught Roy how to gently apply lipstick-- first on himself and then on her-- and then they giggled when Roy couldn't hold the kohl pencil steadily and ended up drawing a wiggly line on his eyebrow.

Ahmya explained to him, slowly and gently as she let him touch the scars on her back, that bad people had hurt her a long time ago and she didn't like to think about it. Roy remembered Namari's stern face and didn't ask who these bad people were, why did they hurt her, how did they hurt her. Roy just hugged her and kissed her cheek and said he was sorry she got hurt, and then immediately giggled when he saw that there was lipstick on her cheek. He said (like only a child can) "I left a scar too! But I didn't hurt you, right Ahmya?" and the rest of the day devolved into Ahmya telling him stories about witches that eat fat little children while she tickled him.

Roy remembers the day that all the hair disappeared from Merence's face, when her voice became lighter and she smiled and laughed more often, catching her reflection on every shiny surface. She would touch her face and neck half in disbelief, half with immense relief, and half with overflowing happiness. He remembers how excited she was to get top surgery (Chris had to tell her she couldn't get top and bottom at the same time unless she wanted to be laid up in bed for a month on a morphine drip), how ecstatic she was after she'd healed from bottom surgery, and how she couldn't stop admiring herself in her new dress and shoes and long hair, which is when Roy teased that she was in love with her reflection.

And she said: home is the place you can look at your reflection. She was home now, in her body. Roy only really understood what she meant after he got back from Ishval and he couldn't bear to look at any mirrors-- all he could see were the eyes of a murderer.

Hughes' head is a maze of different mirrors that only he knows how to navigate, and even then he sometimes gets lost. Gracia is his home, his sacrosanct place. Roy has only met Gracia a few times and it's not for lack of trying on Gracia's part or unwillingness to meet her by Roy. She knows Roy is an important person in Hughes' life. Hughes refuses to let the two worlds meet. Roy is fairly certain Hughes doesn't talk about Roy, work, or Ishval at all, if he can help it, when he's with Gracia. He wishes Hughes would let Gracia meet Riza-- he thinks they would be good friends. But: boundaries. Hughes has multiple, double-enforced boundaries encircling each compartment of his life.

The reason why Hughes is in Central and Roy is in the East is because Hughes refuses to be anywhere near Ishval for more than three days; his excuse is that he needs to keep his finger on the pulse of Central. Which is true-- everyone at Central seems to be a chess player. Roy is in the East because there's a higher chance of putting together a team-- a real team-- when no one can escape the stark landscape of the military's actions. Fuery's skilled enough that he could put in a transfer for any region; radio operators are always in high demand. But Fuery stays.

Central plays to Hughes' strengths-- the Bureau of Investigations is a perfect fit. He has access to all sorts of classified files; Investigations have currently been focused more on _internal_ investigations than external; the more information Hughes has, the more players he has on his ever growing chess board.

Eastern command plays to Roy's strengths-- the region is far from stable. It's fluid, officers come and go, terrorist alliances form and break, the definition of "law and order" is much looser and Roy feels right at home. With all the action (and confusion), the area is replete with opportunities to make a name for himself, his team, and establish a persona that seems to shift whichever way the wind blows.

Riza is in Eastern command because where Roy goes, she will follow.

So yes, Roy concedes that Hughes has many valid points regarding Grumman's motivations, his position on the chess board, how he plans to use Roy's team while also currying favor with his granddaughter. But East is not Central, just as Central is not East. From what Roy's experienced, Grumman has been a mostly hands off commander when it comes to field operations, much more embroiled in encouraging others around him to make petty power plays.

That's another issue with chess players. They all think everyone's playing the same game-- if they perceive someone else as not playing, they assume the person is unaware of the larger picture and therefore that much easier to manipulate. Grumman sees Roy as a pawn. Roy sees Grumman as Grumman-- a person with his own motivations-- both beneficial and dangerous to their cause-- and only time will tell how circumstances play out. Right now, it's useful to have that relationship.

Ironically, Ness also hated chess. She was moderately good at it when absolutely necessary, but also carried an attitude like it was somehow beneath her. Why play chess when you can _hunt_?

But it's true: Chris said he has to learn how to play chess. So learn he shall. And also true: Chris said he would hate it. Roy hates it _so much_. Honestly, he doesn't think he'll get any better at chess-- the things that Grumman accidentally reveals while Roy puts on his "I'm so honored a general would take notice of me" ditz face are much more interesting. he wonders how long he can keep up the facade before Grumman figures it out. It's possible Grumman already has and is playing along to see where this will go, but Roy doubts it.

There's acting, and then there's _acting_. One you learn because your life depends on it. The other you learn because you can. Roy knows both; Roy performs both; Roy can recognize both.

"Lt. Hawkeye?" Hughes says, voice with the edges of an order.

"Yes, sir?"

"I need you to keep a close eye on Lt. General Grumman," Hughes at least has the courtesy not to drag Roy into this request-- Hughes knows how Roy feels about using Riza for anything related to power plays.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"The Lt. General doesn't consider the promise he made to _you_ something that applies to me," Roy explains.

"You said that _you_ want to make sure nothing like Ishval happens again, correct?" Hughes asks.

"Yes, Major."

"Then he's already decided the best way to make that happen is to become Fuhrer himself, and that he'll use Lt. Colonel Mustang to do it."

"How can you be sure, Major?"

"It's what I would do," Hughes says bluntly. Roy can hear the shrug in his voice.

Riza looks troubled, but more than that, angry. It's on her face-- she won't be used again. Especially not in the name of helping her country.

"Understood, sir."

From the silence, Roy can hear Hughes tempted to give her tips and tricks-- in a remarkable show of restraint, Hughes doesn't. Riza has already demonstrated she has the measure of the man. She has her own way of doing things which is not Hughes' preferred mode of operation (Hughes' preferred mode of operation being whatever is expedient), and Riza's strength is that she exploits another thing chess players forget-- that they will be judged, and she will hold them accountable for their actions.

"Anything else?" Hughes asks.

"There's a new crop of cadets who'll be assigned to their units soon, Major. I may need to request expedited background checks."

"Absolutely, Lt. Hawkeye. If I may, Lieutenant, do you mind if I conduct a test?"

"At what risk, Hughes?" Roy demands.

"Very little," Hughes says to Roy, exasperated. "Lt. Hawkeye, I know Lt. General Grumman still has some people in CBI. If you send your request to me, I'll get you the information as soon as possible. But I also think you should submit your request to the Lt. General to see how quickly he responds. It could tell us a lot about his willingness to help."

"That's true," Riza says thoughtfully. "It won't be outside the ordinary course of business to request additional files for new recruits. He's already been doing his own investigations of Lt. Colonel Mustang, so it wouldn't draw undue suspicion. I've heard of other officers putting in requests for additional information on personnel."

"He'll know you're testing him," Hughes adds. "And he'll know that the information you're requesting goes beyond an officer's typical request. The report you get could tell us how much he's willing to assist, and how much he thinks he can delay. The materials he gives you will also tell us what kind of information he has access to-- I might even be able to find out who his contact is, depending on the information."

"I agree, Major. I'll submit the papers every few days so he doesn't have the excuse that I've made too many requests."

"Excellent," Hughes replies. "Roy, what exactly are you looking for? I've been sending people your way-- they come back to Central begging for forgiveness for whatever they did wrong. It's very useful for _me_ , but that's _not the point_."

"I'll know it when I see it."

"This. This is why you're completely useless," Hughes groans.

"Having second thoughts, Hughes?"

"No," Hughes grumbles. "Just wish I _understood_ your people sense, instead of the hand-waving you do about 'getting a feel for them.'"

"I admit I've made mistakes in the past."

Hughes snorts; Riza's expression is pulled taut.

"But I know what's on the line here-- and I don't make mistakes about that."

Hughes makes a conceding noise; Riza gives him an expression that is half frown, half curiosity.

"I'll see what I can do," Hughes hangs up.

"Sir?" Riza says, carefully disconnecting her headset. They no longer have to worry about using the public telephones; Fuery rigged something up for them that Roy half understood. Riza took care of the remaining schematics.

"Lt. Hawkeye."

"If I may ask a question, sir."

"Yes?"

"What _are_ you looking for? There have been some candidates that I thought had potential. Sgt. Poleman, for example."

"Poleman had potential, but he's a zealot-- he doesn't watch what he says and I could see that any move we might make would be too slow for him. If he could, he'd have stormed into Central long ago to assassinate the Fuhrer. He looked at our unit as a place that would support and protect _his_ goals, but he had no concept of anything that would come afterward.

"Zealots are both very difficult and very easy to convert. The difficulty lies in convincing them that another path is the truth they're seeking. But once they are converted, they are zealots for their new cause. For us, that is a major liability."

Riza considers that and finds she agrees. Sgt. Poleman was passionate, charismatic-- and careless. He truly believed in the mission of rehabilitating the East, but the sight of the bombed out landscape had him alternately taking his anger out at the firing range or getting into fights with other soldiers. Without an outlet for immediate action, Riza could see how he could become disillusioned or seek something else to believe.

"I had him transferred to Briggs."

Riza looks at him, surprised.

"He'll be protected there. Major General Armstrong won't turn him away, and the soldiers at Briggs will make him one of their own. Defending Amestris against Drachma will put good use to all his restless energy."

"What about Second Lieutenant Wavery?"

"Wanted reform, but did not think it should be democracy. She was convinced that if we removed those at the top, the country would return to the correct path."

"What did she say that made you come to this conclusion, sir?"

"Her threshhold for risk of harm to civilians was too high-- sometimes to the point that she followed orders without accounting for its possibility-- and her reports always gave very rough approximations for civilian casualties."

Riza had always been leading the other squad, so hadn't seen 2d. Lt. Wavery in action. She had noticed the rounded numbers, but it was always difficult to know with certainty. Riza always kept count-- that didn't mean the rest of her squad was just as diligent.

"It's good that she's angry with the top and willing to put the lives of her soldiers before the orders of a general," Roy continues. "But she doesn't think this system is fundamentally flawed; she just wants to see a change in leadership. It's why she won't be court martialed. Her complaints aren't directed at the army-- they're directed at individuals, which is nothing new." 

Riza nods. She doesn't know how the Lt. Colonel is able to pinpoint the issues with such accuracy, but what he just said makes perfect sense when she thinks of 2d. Lt. Wavery's comments and conversation; 2d. Lt. Wavery placed the blame for Ishval on specific generals-- the few rotten apples and not the barrel. She doesn't know about the Fuhrer's actions or Order No. 3066-- obviously not Second Lieutenant's fault-- but when Riza imagines telling her the truth, the image of Wavery's reaction isn't pretty.

"I was remiss in not telling you my rationale, Lt. Hawkeye. I would welcome your input going forward; you are the ones who know them best."

"I trust you in this, Lt. Colonel. But I agree, it would help me understand better what qualities to look for."

Roy looks at Riza, surprised that she said she trusted him with anything. It was always implied-- otherwise he wouldn't be standing-- but he didn't expect her to say it out loud. He relaxes and smiles, voice intentionally light hearted.

"Well-- for one thing, we _will_ need a chess player."

Riza laughs.

"I will be sure to have a chess board in the room tomorrow, sir."

And she does-- compact, with a board that folded in half to carry the pieces. But what surprises Roy most is the fact that he can unscrew the bottoms of certain pieces. Three pawns, one rook, a knight and the king, each one hollow.

He doesn't put anything in them yet. It still makes him smile, that he and Riza are learning each other again-- this time as equals working towards the same dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding chess: it's another thing I'm not totally convinced of despite (what I believe is) fandom consensus. I can't find a specific reference in the manga or FMA:B that Roy is amazing at chess or even moderately skilled. He "wins" once to Grumman, but Grumman still has plenty of options (note: there's an inconsistency between the checkmate panel and the panel where Grumman examines board-- no matter how you look at it, there's an extra row in the checkmate panel with a black pawn in the square directly in front of Grumman's king). If we take the panel where Grumman's queen takes out Roy's bishop as the actual board prior to Roy's "checkmate," there's a lot of different ways Grumman could have gotten out of a defensive position to an offensive one.
> 
> I know Roy uses the metaphor of chess pieces when he loses his unit, but I think it's significant he uses the chess metaphor _after_ he loses his unit.


	14. Terms and Conditions

All equations that define the universe are astoundingly elegant. The corollaries, the applications, the theory that led to the equation might be an angry snarl of headache inducing complexity that take entire generations to absorb, but the equation itself, the one that expresses a fundamental property of the universe, is always breathtaking in its simplicity.

So it is with arrays. A particularly good example: Kimblee.

If you draw Kimblee's arrays as one diagram and activate it, nothing happens. The sun and moon overlap, nullifying each other's power. Fire and water cancel out. Paired like this, whatever energy generated by one element is met with its opposing force; it's what alchemists call a null array.

Kimblee is a genius because he took the null array and separated its base. The components: fire with sun, water with moon-- two simple arrays that encapsulate two fundamental and diametrically opposing principles in alchemy. Each array is completely stable, each array is a deep reservoir of alchemical power.

When Kimblee claps his hands, he brings these opposing elements together. In that moment they come into contact, they're forced to exist simultaneously and in the same space, when they _should_ cancel each other out. Kimblee's array uses _the laws of alchemy itself_ . The act of creation is _constructing the array_ . In exchange, alchemy destroys the _fundamental opposition_ between the two elements. This releases the incredibly unstable, totally destructive, hypnotically crimson colored alchemical energy and restores the balance of alchemy's natural laws: the opposites, now combined, create a null array.

As incredible as his alchemy is, there are several limitations to Kimblee's creation. First is that the magnitude cannot really be controlled. No one knows how Kimblee solved that problem-- and he _has_ solved it because they've all seen that Kimblee's explosions come in different sizes: large, huge, immense, and terrifying. Some alchemists speculate that Kimblee redirects the energy by absorbing it in his body (and whisper it's the reason why he's a psychopath)-- Roy personally thinks that Kimblee bleeds the energy off by dissipating it into the earth. Kimblee has a particular way of standing, a specific posture and a series of deliberate, almost meditative movements he makes before he brings his hands together. Certainly there's an element of showmanship and intimidation, but Roy, as an alchemist who also deals with releasing enough energy to level cities, is also hyperaware of what an energy blowback can do to the alchemist's body.

Second is that Kimblee's alchemical energy destroys; it does not create. Kimblee does create things using alchemy-- but he creates them using one hand. Roy's fairly certain that's what the symbols around Kimblee's arrays are used for. However, Kimblee very rarely uses that skill and as far as Roy's seen, it's not particularly powerful.

Third is that it takes an _immense_ amount of willpower to do what Kimblee does. This is not about physical strength-- if it were, the army would have tattooed everyone's hands with Kimblee's arrays and taught everyone how to clap on command. Alchemical laws do _not_ like being bent near its breaking point. The only good analogy Roy can think of is a situation similar to fusion, but _without_ the presence of nuclear force that attracts atoms to each other at the subatomic level. Instead, "fusing" them together would be like annihilating the atoms (cancelling each other out) and the destruction of mass would follow the laws of physics (alchemy), converted to pure energy (Kimblee's crimson alchemy).

To any other alchemist this sounds amazing in theory, a delightful and interesting thought experiment. Kimblee's alchemy is most definitely _not_ a thought experiment. It's very real and Kimblee's existence is like a singularity given human form. Roy is not exaggerating. When he was developing flame alchemy at the Academy, Roy was in awe of Kimblee and deeply respected him; the same way Roy has always been in (terrified) awe of Ness and deeply respects the unending depths of her sadism. In the face of a force like Ness or Kimblee, you either respect their power and never underestimate them, or you dismiss them as insane and ignore them. Ignore them, and become prey.

It is not, nor has it ever been, Roy's goal to be like Kimblee or Ness. But he can't deny that he's learned a lot from both along the way. He doesn't know (nobody knows) how Kimblee came to wield crimson alchemy with complete mastery. But Kimblee is older than Roy, a pure war alchemist who had been deployed to many fronts before Ishval. Roy learned how to use his array in war-- in Ishval. He thinks Kimblee developed mastery the same way: on the front lines of each battlefield.

Discovering the full potential of the flame array and the complete extent of its capabilities came in stages. His teacher was brilliant, but Roy is certain that Master Hawkeye never succeeded in wielding flame alchemy because he never learned how to use the array. This is not Roy being arrogant. This is Roy looking back, now a true master of flame alchemy, and seeing that it was only through hard won, bitter experience (and unspeakable amounts of death and luck) that he somehow managed to bridge the _tremendous, insane, horrifically complex_ gap between theory and practice.

For Master Hawkeye, his research _was_ a thought experiment. His teacher probably explored the edges of the array, but given that there were no reports of sudden explosions and raging conflagrations at the Hawkeye estate, Roy knows his teacher didn't follow through with facing the deep implications of his theory. Thus his last words, that _alchemists are creatures who must search for truth as long as they live._

Instead, Master Hawkeye extrapolated and extended his thought experiment. As a theoretician, he discovered enough to know in a generalized, fluff-brained, this-will-be-the-end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it sense, that flame alchemy was powerful and potentially disastrous in the wrong hands (the declaration that his invention was the _greatest and most powerful alchemy_ is… debatable, and self serving). Master Hawkeye was right in the same way that prophetic Luddites are right: vague declarations that great power leads to great destruction and the corruption of humankind and whatever innovations new alchemy might bring are vastly outweighed by its evils. Unfortunately, this has been said of every type of alchemy that exists.

_When alchemists cease to think, they die._

Roy suspects that the years following Master Hawkeye's completion of his research, his teacher tried to delve deeper into the array. In attempting to do so, he encountered the hard limits of his ability as an alchemist. And he discovered he was afraid of his own creation.

_I became complacent. That's why I am a man who died long ago._

There are stark differences between the mindsets of alchemists who develop theories, alchemists who master its practice, and alchemists who break down the separate components to apply it to the development of new technology. This is particularly true in fire alchemy. The theoretician who discovered the stoichiometric equations and thermodynamics of fire was not the same person who mastered the array; the alchemist who mastered the array was not the same person who invented combustion engines.

Master Hawkeye obviously belonged to the first category. Roy belongs to the second. With Riza's declaration that no flame alchemist will ever be created again, it's unlikely anyone will have a chance to develop practical applications.

But flame alchemy's array…

What follows is a primer for students interested in the thought experiment of flame alchemy. Apprentices are advised not to attempt these techniques without supervision. Certified fire alchemists are strongly encouraged to practice in an unpopulated area with easy access to water, no buildings or trees, a Fire Alchemist Association approved first aid kit and a spotter. Fireproof clothing and a welder's mask are not necessary but generally recommended.

Moreover, the editors of this primer absolutely do not endorse practicing flame alchemy using the "snap" technique.

This primer is published by The Thought Experiment of Flame Alchemy, a limited liability company and subsidiary of the Fire Alchemist Association. By owning a copy of this book, you acknowledge and agree to The Thought Experiment of Flame Alchemy's Terms of Service and The Thought Experiment of Flame Alchemy's Terms of Use.

TO THE EXTENT NOT PROHIBITED BY APPLICABLE LAW, IN NO EVENT SHALL THE FIRE ALCHEMIST ASSOCIATION, ITS AFFILIATES, AGENTS, OR PRINCIPALS BE LIABLE FOR PERSONAL INJURY, OR ANY INCIDENTAL, SPECIAL, INDIRECT, OR CONSEQUENTIAL DAMAGES WHATSOEVER, INCLUDING, WITHOUT LIMITATION, DAMAGES FOR PROPERTY DESTRUCTION, LOSS OF LIMBS, LOSS OF EYESIGHT, FIRST, SECOND, THIRD, OR FOURTH DEGREE BURNS, CREMATION, EXPLOSIONS, ARSON, EXPIRATION OF PHILOSOPHER'S STONES, MANSLAUGHTER, FIRST, SECOND, AND THIRD DEGREE MURDER, CONSPIRACY TO OVERTHROW THE GOVERNMENT, CONSPIRACY TO SET THE FUHRER ON FIRE, LOSS OF PAPERWORK, HUMAN TRANSMUTATION, GENOCIDE, OR ACTS OF GOD.

YOU EXPRESSLY ACKNOWLEDGE AND AGREE THAT, TO THE EXTENT PERMITTED BY APPLICABLE LAW, USE OF THIS BOOK AND ANY ACTS OF ALCHEMY PERFORMED BY OR ACCESSED THROUGH THE CONTENTS OF THIS BOOK IS AT YOUR SOLE RISK AND THAT THE ENTIRE RISK AS TO SATISFACTORY QUALITY, PERFORMANCE, ACCURACY, AND EFFORT IS WITH YOU.

YOU FURTHER ACKNOWLEDGE THAT FLAME ALCHEMY IS NOT INTENDED OR SUITABLE FOR USE IN SITUATIONS OR ENVIRONMENTS WHERE THE FAILURE OR TIME DELAYS OF, OR ERRORS OR INACCURACIES IN TECHNIQUE, CONTROL, OR CALCULATION COULD LEAD TO DEATH, PERSONAL INJURY, OR SEVERE PHYSICAL OR ENVIRONMENTAL DAMAGE, INCLUDING WITHOUT LIMITATION THE OPERATION OF NUCLEAR FACILITIES, ENCOUNTERS WITH GENERAL OLIVIER MIRA ARMSTRONG, CONVERSATIONS WITH SCAR, OR RAIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that you've agreed to the Terms of Service, we can learn about the Flame Alchemist's array!


	15. The Uncontrolled Fusion Reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is real science, and then there is hand waving about triangles, also known as Roy's array.

Like Kimblee's array, Roy's array is deceptively simple. Using it is anything but.

** A basic description **

  * Two inverted triangles above ( **🜃** )
    * In classical terms, each triangle represents earth
    * In modern terms, it represents matter
  * Two upright triangles below ( **🜁** )
    * Classical: Air
    * Modern: Gas
  * One upright triangle between ( **🜂** )
    * Classical: Fire
    * Modern: Plasma, heat, light, energy
  * Larger ring which contains all geometric elements:
    * A controlled reaction
  * Smaller ring which does not contain all geometric elements:
    * An uncontrolled reaction
  * Salamander
    * Classical: Several meanings
    * Modern: Several meanings
    * In the context of this particular array, usually the alchemist
  * Flame with circle
    * Classical: Not a commonly used symbol
    * In the context of this particular array: Fusion



** Notable properties **

  * The array has no words.
  * There is only one, possibly two esoteric symbols-- the salamander and the flame.
  * The geometric meanings and combination are so broad, it is conceivable that another alchemist could use the same array and arrive at a completely different result.
  * The array never touches the ground.
    * While this property is not exclusive to flame alchemy (see: air alchemy), this array has a significant ground component, which almost always necessitates contact with the material being transmuted.



  
** Prerequisites, aside from Flame Comprehension **

Mastery of fire alchemy. Certified practitioners of fire alchemy will note that the presence of the earth triangle and the air triangle in conjunction with the fire triangle is often found in advanced fire arrays to manipulate the fuel and oxidizer components of the fire tetrahedron. Advanced practitioners will note that the absence of any symbols or words means there is no limit to the type of matter or gas the alchemist can use and no limit to the quantities the alchemist can draw from. Advanced practitioners will also note the lack of any limiting factors to the fire sigil. This is key, as the flame array uses the fire component in every form. Thus, the importance of Fire Comprehension cannot be overstated.  
  


**Lesson 1: The Uncontrolled Fusion Reaction **

Basic skills

  * Breaking molecular bonds
  * Extracting certain types of matter
  * Manipulating the density and location of gases



This is the easiest, simplest, and safest technique in flame alchemy for the practitioner. The same cannot be said for anything near the site of fusion.

\--[[[ Roy's state alchemist exam: Probably did not actually demonstrate fusion-- not in its full form. That's not to say there was _no_ fusion. There was enough fusion to make the fire hotter than any on record, and enough "flame" to blow up large quantities of completely inert materials. Also, he created fire from water. Keeping in mind that Roy was very much _not a master_ of his alchemy yet, this is what happened.

Activating the array, the cup of water (matter, upper triangles 🜃) had its O-H bonds broken with energy (inner triangle 🜂) and extracted as individual atoms (gas, lower triangles 🜁). Roy didn't have enough control to completely separate the hydrogen atoms from the oxygen atoms, so they were both ionized to form plasma (inner triangle 🜂), He also didn't have enough control to create a miniscule and extremely dense pocket of hydrogen within the plasma-- an essential component for true, undiluted fusion-- but he _was_ able to keep the plasma relatively compact and localized to the bottom of the tower. He (the salamander) generated energy (which looked like sparks, inner triangle 🜂), that, once embedded in the plasma field, could overcome the electrostatic force between deuterium atoms (flame symbol).

Nothing comes for free in alchemy. There was a limit to how much energy could be funneled to the plasma field before he reached the physical and alchemical ceiling. However, he didn't need to apply that energy to _all_ the D atoms. The idea was that the "spark" would jumpstart fusion for a couple million D atoms and the fusion chain reaction would take care of the rest.

What _actually_ happened was a small number of fusion reactions took place. The number was probably in the low trillions [10e12] (recall that it takes approximately 2.2 quintillion [10e18] fusion reactions to generate the same amount of energy as 1 kg of TNT [10e18 = 1 trillion x 1 million]). But what people actually saw was mostly the plasma field's electrostatic discharge, then combustion of the remaining hydrogen and oxygen in a BOOM that was 1) very loud 2) very bright 3) very hot 4) _very very_ uncontrolled (uncontained circle). Still, it was enough to bring down the demo stone tower erected for his exam and was sufficiently impressive that he passed with flying colors. ]]]--

** Ishval Exercises **

  1. Prior to breaking the molecular bonds, determine exactly how much hydrogen is necessary for the desired total energy release. Calculate the amount of hydrogen available in common, hydrogen rich substances.  
  
For the beginner: This is a basic lesson in fire alchemy applied to flame. Understanding the chemical makeup of common combustible materials should be narrowed to the study of hydrogen rich molecules. Stoichiometric equations will take care of the rest. Before proceeding further, measure the amount of hydrogen that should have been produced according to stoichiometry and the amount of hydrogen actually produced in practice.  
  
\--[[[ Thanks to Master Hawkeye's endless drills, Roy already knew this before the entered the Academy. The stoichiometry for the amount of H needed for fusion came later, but that was simple compared to hammering out the details of nuclear fusion. ]]]--  
  
For the advanced practitioner: Reduce the margin of error. It is well understood that not all molecular bonds will be broken and that after breaking the bonds, hydrogen will naturally seek stability by immediately forming bonds with surrounding free elements. Increasing the number of bones broken and preventing hydrogen from rebonding to create new molecules is absolutely necessary to prevent overexpenditure of energy and maximize the amount of fuel available for fusion.  
  
\--[[[ Roy had accounted for this inefficiency in Ishval, but he severely overcompensated. The first hydrogen bombs he set off were truly uncontrolled disasters. One of the bombs injured two soldiers in his squad. It was only through discovery, use, and practice (another way of saying genocide) of other array components that he decreased his margin of error to less than 0.5%. ]]]--  
  
Both beginners and advanced practitioners will recognize this as a basic principle in the fire tetrahedron: controlling the amount of fuel also controls the size of the fire. This is also true in flame alchemy.  
  

  2. After breaking the molecular bonds of the liquid or solid state fuel, extract the hydrogen produced and separate it from any other gaseous byproducts.  
  
For the beginner: Consider the principles at work in an oil refinery distillation tower, where substances of different molecular weights are separated by their boiling points. Devising an analogous (but not identical) alchemical process can be achieved utilizing the fact that hydrogen and its isotope deuterium have atomic mass of 1 and 2 respectively.  
  
This method can be applied independently from the array. It is limited, however, by the fact that results are best achieved when the fuel is 1) a solid or gas and 2) no atmospheric air is allowed to mix with the newly distilled components.  
  
\--[[[ Roy's method never used this process. ]]]--  
  
For the advanced practitioner: Isolate hydrogen and deuterium from gaseous fuel sources using only the components present in the array. Consider the point of intersection between the earth and air triangles and recall that while "earth" traditionally refers to matter in a solid state, it also represents matter _in general_. Similarly, "air" traditionally refers to the atmospheric mixture of nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, etc, but it also represents any _type_ of matter in a gaseous state.  
  
Those familiar with air alchemy will also be well versed in the triangle's property of gradients, where lighter atoms or molecules or those with high energy (for example, hotter gases) rise to the top (i.e. "hot air rises").  
  
\--[[[ Roy immediately took advantage of the point of intersection between 🜃 and 🜁. It was a natural alchemical filter, built into the array. In the beginning, he simply had the filter pull any and all gaseous products to 🜁. The major limitations of this were quickly apparent. Indiscriminately pulling gas, in the traditional sense, did not filter out products such as water vapor, particulates-- it even pulled in atmospheric air. This diluted the mixture, drastically lowering the probability that fusion would occur.  
  
The solution he devised was to use the property of gradients to pull gaseous products of molecular breakdown to the bottom tip of 🜃, and use the property of gradients again in 🜁, where the heavier gases would sink to the bottom and the lighter would automatically float to the top. He still encountered inefficiencies. For one thing, 🜃 property of gradients naturally settles heavy elements to the bottom; reversing the process required some wrestling with earth alchemy. Limiting the filter to 🜁-- which is to say any substance that, in normal atmospheric conditions, exists in a gaseous state-- was obviously not enough to restrict the lighter gases to H only.  
  
His epiphany was not to use the filter based on criteria for gas, but based on criteria for _matter_ , i.e. define the parameters by 🜃 and not 🜁. Sometimes the solution is extremely obvious and right in front of your face, but a lot of other things get in the way. The answer: limit the filter to only allow hydrogen and its isotopes to pass through. Everything else, any other byproducts, wouldn't get pulled into the second stage of array, left in the environment surrounding the fuel. The work he did to get to this answer wasn't useless-- learning how to reverse the 🜃 gradient was _hard_ \-- and what he learned working with 🜁 would become extremely useful later. But for now, he could pull pure hydrogen from any material. ]]]--  
  

  3. Having separated the hydrogen from all other byproducts and ambient air, compress the hydrogen to a small, dense pocket. With hydrogen isolated and in (relatively) close proximity to each other, the likelihood of setting off a fusion chain reaction increases dramatically.  
  
For the beginner: It has been effectively demonstrated that increasing the pressure of the entire gas field will also bring the isolated hydrogen atoms closer together. Again, an understanding of basic air alchemy is invaluable here as the pressure of gases is one of the cornerstones of the discipline. This principle can also be applied without the use of the flame alchemy array.  
  
For the advanced practitioner: Compress the hydrogen, and _only_ the hydrogen, using the components in the array. If Ishval Exercise 2 was successfully accomplished, increasing the density should be relatively easy. As the practitioner becomes more familiar with the array, Ishval Exercises 2 and 3 can be performed simultaneously.  
  
\--[[[ Never let it be said that Roy is not a multitasking freak. The ideal gas law (PV = _n_ RT, where P stands for pressure, V stands for volume, _n_ stands for amount of gas in mols, R is the gas contant, and T is absolute temperature), if _n_ and T remain constant and P increases, then V must decrease. Since Roy knows exactly how much hydrogen he will extract, exactly how small he wants the ball of hydrogen to be, he already knows how much pressure he needs. ]]]--  
  




Note that Lesson 1 _does not_ and _will not_ go over methods on how to begin the fusion reaction.

\--[[[ Despite accomplishing all this control over the amount, density, purity of the hydrogen, this is called an _uncontrolled_ fusion reaction for a reason. When it explodes, Roy can't control anything about it-- size, shape, area, direction-- none of the things he's known for.

As a side note: Roy, as a master flame alchemist now, can get the density of the hydrogen ball to nanometers-- even picometers depending on what he needs. When the ball is subjected to two rapid bursts of very high energy (read: the equivalent of two pulses of photons from ultrapowerful lasers, which Roy can do because... photons)-- the first pulse heats the hydrogen, the second starts fusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Roy can do fast ignition inertial confinement fusion. See: hand waving about triangles.


	16. The Controlled Fusion Reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all physicists: blame the alchemists. To all alchemists: blame the physicists. Everyone else: blame Hughes, the enabling enabler of Roy's Visions to Protect the People.

**Lesson 2: The Controlled Fusion Reaction**

Basic skills

  * Mastery of Lesson 1: The Uncontrolled Fusion Reaction
  * Creating plasma
  * Use of containment transmutation circles



**A note on Lesson 2**

All alchemists will recognize that the containment transmutation circle can be used to cut corners in completing the exercises in Lesson 1. For example, the amateur alchemist may be tempted to use the containment transmutation circle to bypass Exercise 2, reasoning that simply confining the gaseous products to the containment circle, then compressing the elements within the circle will be sufficient to bring enough deuterium atoms in close proximity to generate the desired fusion reaction.

The alchemist who elects to take this shortcut does so at their own peril. Mastery of Fire Alchemy is built on discipline and control-- this is doubly true for Flame Alchemy. Those who rely on the containment circle are only hamstringing themselves by cultivating bad habits that will be difficult to break, and in doing so will be unable to even attempt the Lightning Reaction or the Pinpoint Technique.  
  


\--[[[ Even Roy, when he was learning how to use the flame array, didn't activate the containment circle-- not even at his State Alchemist exam. ]]]--  
  


The Controlled Fusion Reaction is the foundation upon which all other Flame Alchemy techniques are built. It is the second easiest technique in flame alchemy, though it comes with increased risk to the alchemist. However, in contrast to the Uncontrolled Fusion Reaction, it can decrease the risk of unnecessary collateral damage since it allows the alchemist to choose the target and manipulate the amount of energy released.  
  


\--[[[ Roy converted gas to plasma from the beginning of his use of the array. In his State Alchemy exam he ionized hydrogen and oxygen first, then attempted to isolate and confine the hydrogen within the plasma. The atoms in a plasma state, however, have _much_ more energy than gas, which made it that much more difficult to separate the hydrogen from oxygen, let alone attempt to compress it. It's part of the reason why, when he set off fusion, the resulting reaction was _extremely_ unstable (though very impressive).

It was in Ishval that he learned to not to turn everything into plasma first. The lesson came at a cost: he killed ten soldiers in another squad, wounding several others. Part of the reason why the Amestrian soldiers died (in what was essentially friendly fire) was because their commander did not really take twenty-three year old Roy seriously and didn't wait before sending his troops in. He'd scoffed at Roy's "finger snapping fire," not understanding how much _hotter_ the "fire" was and how the "fire" was more than self-sustaining-- it didn't stop just because there was nothing flammable in its immediate vicinity.

This was another reason why Roy's fusion was uncontrollable. He couldn't dictate when the fusion _stopped_. His array might not be active, but fusion generated enough energy to break more molecular bonds, free up more hydrogen and deuterium, fuse, and keep going in a chain reaction. Everything happened so rapidly that it _looked_ like a bomb, but he couldn't be sure that the fusion had depleted itself until he saw the oxygen/hydrogen fire burn out. The commander, working on his assumptions of the typical behavior of fires and bombs, sent his men in _before Roy had snapped his fingers_. They had agreed in this joint maneuver that _no one would charge before the all clear_. But the commander gave _his_ signal and it was too late.

The commander thought he was using the classic "throw the grenade into enemy lines and charge" maneuver-- risky in and of itself and only "safe" if the grenade was thrown sufficiently far away, but then it wasn't the commander who was charging in anyway-- apparently the rewards outweighed the risks. But fusion is _not a grenade_ and his soldiers soon found themselves in the middle of a raging, self-sustaining fire that _drew hydrogen from the water in human sweat_. Fusion happened _on their body_.

The corpses of those ten men were charcoal covered meat-- no one could identify their features. The other wounded had severe third degree burns on their faces, their hands not even bleeding because the heat of their half melted rifles auto-cauterized the wounds. Other soldiers' uniforms had caught on fire (normal fire)-- the wool burned and continued to burn because _there was no fucking water to put it out_.

The incident left Roy shaken. It left his soldiers shaken (and guaranteed that they _never_ went in before the Major gave the all-clear signal). The commander naturally blamed Roy. But the commander quickly found out what his rank and years of service on the front were worth against the rank of a State War Alchemist (especially a War Alchemist selected by the Fuhrer himself). Roy thought that rumors would spread like wildfire through the army about how the Flame Alchemist killed other commander's soldiers, but somehow the rumors never materialized.

It might have had something to do with the look of horror on the Major's face as he himself charged in, pushing the soldiers back, ordering his men to find water and radio for a medic as he simultaneously sent fire (normal fire) along the Ishvalan lines to force them to retreat. He was also the one who retrieved all ten charcoal bodies, face and uniform and hands covered in soot, and the one with enough expertise in medical alchemy to treat some of the wounds. If anything, the incident increased his reputation as the Hero of Ishval. ]]]--

**Ishval Exercises**

  1. Activate the containment array, then convert the hydrogen to plasma.  
  

  2. Convert the hydrogen to plasma, then activate the containment array.  
  
Both the beginning and advanced practitioner may be surprised that the order of operations produces different results and different degrees of control. While it may seem intuitive that Ishval Exercise 4 would allow for greater control and be safer for the practitioner, this is not the case. By activating the containment circle around the _hydrogen_ , all subsequent transmutations are defined by the parameters of the contaminant placed on the _hydrogen_. The conversion to plasma and the final fusion reaction are limited by what we will refer to as the hydrogen circle.  
  
In Ishval Exercise 5, where the hydrogen is converted to plasma and the containment circle is placed around the _plasma_ means that the fusion reaction is defined by the plasma. Recall that matter in a gaseous state and matter in a plasma state have very different properties. Plasma is, by definition, the state where the atoms are ionized-- that is, the atoms have been stripped of their electrons. This results in a substance that is extremely electrically conductive and in some cases generates a strong magnetic field. Perhaps more importantly is that in order to ionize atoms, a large amount of heat (i.e. very high temperatures) is necessary, which in turn means that the thermal kinetic energy of the atoms is very high.  
  
Why would this be easier to control? Consider the following analogy:  
  
Two individuals have two identical candles. Each individual is tasked with creating a glass bulb to contain the flame. The first individual creates their glass container based on the size and properties of the candle. The second individual creates their glass container based on the size and properties of the flame. Whose glass bulb will successfully contain the flame?  
  
In the first instance, unless the individual _already knows_ all the properties of the flame that will be produced, it is likely the bulb will be too small or too large. In fusion, if the containment is too small, the plasma will be forced to stay within that space, forcing the atoms closer together, resulting in an explosion that will be larger than the alchemist desired. If the containment is too large, the atoms will expand to fit the space. This decreases the number of deuterium atoms that are in close proximity to each other and the explosion will be weaker.  
  
In the second instance, the alchemist can activate a containment circle appropriately sized to generate the fusion reaction-- and therefore the energy output-- that the alchemist desires. The size of the plasma circle determines the probable number of deuterium atoms close enough to fuse and therefore the probable number of fusion reactions.  
  
That is not to say that Ishval Exercise 4 is worthless as a technique. It will come to play a vital role in later lessons and is extremely powerful when combined with other advanced techniques.  
  
\--[[[ For Roy, it was obvious that the containment circle had to be placed around the plasma. Like most things in Ishval, learning to harness the hydrogen circle was a result of a fatal accident. ]]]--  
  

  3. Limit the explosion to a specific target.  
  
This follows naturally from the ability to control the size of the explosion. Limiting the explosion to a specific target is simply a matter of ensuring the source of hydrogen is located within the target. With the alchemist now able to control the size of the explosion, it is simple to keep it within a certain radius. Controlling the size and intensity of the subsequent oxygen/hydrogen fire is a matter of applying basic fire alchemy.  
  
Now, with respect to the amount of energy necessary to successfully bring down the target, that is left as an exercise for the practitioner.  
  

  4. Stop the fusion reaction.  
  
This is actually extremely difficult to do-- so much so that it's effectively impossible to do it.  
  
In theory, an alchemist could mix in atmospheric air to cool the plasma, but there are two consequences to this. First is that mixing atmospheric air does not prevent the explosive oxygen hydrogen fire-- ending fusion prematurely can, in fact, make that explosion larger.  
  
Second is that it creates very good conditions for lightning: plasma is made up of ionized atoms, but electrons play no role in the fusion reaction. The working theory is that this generates a background negative charge, which in turn induces a mirrored positive charge on the area directly below the reaction, resulting in a difference in potential between the two poles. The introduction of atmospheric air-- an excellent insulator-- prevents the two poles from equalizing.  
  
In what is a vastly oversimplified (and therefore inaccurate) explanation, lightning is produced when the now negatively charged plasma creates a path through the air and reaches the positively charged area beneath. Once connected, a stream of free electrons accelerates through the plasma channel, neutralizing the positive charge below, generating the "flash" of light and releasing a huge amount of energy.  
  
The real issue, and the reason why stopping the reaction is impossible, is time. While explaining and describing the various physical, chemical, and alchemical phenomena at work can make it seem like it's perfectly possible to interrupt things mid-reaction, the reality is most definitely _not_ the case. Everything takes place in a span of milliseconds. The best way to prevent accidents is to make sure they never happen in the first place.



  
\--[[[ Roy, whose lessons were all learned in Ishval, knew better than anyone that accidents in Flame Alchemy were synonymous to death.


	17. Magnetic Confinement Fusion

**Lesson 3: Magnetic Confinement Fusion**

\--[[[ By this point, Roy pulled much less hydrogen to create explosions of the same magnitude as his first days in Ishval. He could even limit the array to extract hydrogen using only one pair of triangles, the other half essentially remaining dormant. Which is how he accidentally created lightning.

The accident happened in two stages. Roy was bombing things with great precision. Out of habit, he activated both pairs of triangles but thanks to his new methods and exponentially increasing control, he only used the plasma of one half. The other half, Roy assumed, had dissipated since the array was not active.

Except the next time he went to put his gloves on, one felt slightly different. He carefully pulled it on, pointed his fingers to the ground (both very essential habits for any fire alchemist-- trying to figure out what was going on with an array by putting your face close to it was asking for disaster). Roy felt it-- one of the arrays definitely had alchemical energy running through it. He snapped his fingers to discharge whatever it was and lightning came screaming out, immediately accompanied by the heart stopping shockwave of thunder.

He hadn't activated the array. Activating an array took _intent_. More than that, _producing_ anything required matter, comprehension, comprehension, and more comprehension.

There should _not_ have been _anything_ to discharge.

He had been unaccountably, stupidly lucky: lucky that no one was nearby; lucky that his fingers had been directed to the ground; lucky that it had been lightning and not _fusion_. His squad assumed it was yet another trick up the Major's sleeve-- when they ran over to see what was going on, it just so happened that there had been a snake. Roy did not know this. Hadn't even noticed because he was too busy freaking out about his alchemy.

The squad, however, saw the fried snake and laughed uproariously-- which is how they discovered that the Major had blown everyone's ears out. But they didn't even mind that they had to speak to each other almost exclusively in hand signals for the next two days. The hand signals often turned into a bizarre game of charades, which, whenever Roy happened to pass by, promptly devolved into the soldiers dramatically reenacting increasingly ludicrous scenes of the Major shooting lightning at a snake.

It became a rite of initiation with the replacements, to hear the tale of the Major and the Snake. With each retelling, the snake grew bigger and more poisonous until it was something like a ten meter, two hundred kilogram boa constrictor that shot venom out of its eyes and breathed fire (naturally). The joke being that, while it was easy to believe the Major could generate fire, lightning was something else-- something no replacement really believed until they saw it with their own eyes. Because fire-- fire was common enough. But lightning-- there was something inhuman about it.

Which was hilarious because in Roy's growing arsenal, it was the "fire" that was the true miracle. Lightning was just plasma discharged under certain conditions, and not all that useful in combat. And by far, the _least_ of his worries.

The issue: It was one thing to engage in deep study of flame alchemy for three years and learn to calculate everything backwards and forwards in his sleep. It was another thing to be _completely surprised_ , in a _war zone_ , despite studying said alchemy for three years with the confidence that he knew it backwards and forwards, only to find he did not die _because of a loophole_.

A very literal loophole. Through careful investigation, Roy found that the plasma didn't blow up in his face (and kill him) with fusion because it discharged _through_ the circle in the symbol of the flame. He _knew_ this wasn't something Master Hawkeye could have foreseen and once again, Roy was the stupidest, luckiest alchemist in Amestris who did not quietly panic and tear his hair out in his tent.

It was now clear that flame alchemy was powerful, awful, complex, etc etc and completely, absolutely, without a doubt, totally mind-numbingly obvious that Roy had not spent _nearly_ as much time as he should have learning the intricacies of the simple, elegant, and _incredibly deceptive_ array.

Because how was it _possible_ for the unused plasma to remain _active_ in what should have been a _dormant_ transmutation circle? If nothing else, without the heat and energy provided by the active fire triangle, the plasma should have cooled, lost its ionization and electrical conductivity, converted to gas, and dissipated.

The answer: Roy, like an idiot, did not take into account that not only do the four classic triangles represent the four elements of alchemy, but also the _four cardinal directions_. Earth 🜃 corresponds to north, air 🜁 to east, fire 🜂 to south, water 🜄 to west.

The fusion sequence Roy favored was the plasma circle. However, the array boundaries for the uncontained fusion reaction and contained fusion reaction together create a _ring_ , a space which kept the unused hydrogen plasma generated by the second pair of triangles. The plasma didn't cool and dissipate. Instead, it was stabilized and remained active because it was confined by a _helical toroidal magnetic field_. With the plasma in stable equilibrium, there was no need for a spark of activation. Fusion occurred _naturally_.

This changed everything.

It meant that Roy's array could _store fusion_ \-- the plasma, the energy, the reaction. It meant he could choose when to discharge it and how to discharge it. The direction, the magnitude, intensity, velocity, effect, and target.

This was how Roy's pinpoint technique was born. ]]]--

**Ishval Exercises**

  1. Explain how 🜃🜂🜁 acting on ◎ create the necessary conditions for stable plasma equilibrium.  
  

  2. How much plasma can be stored in ◎?  
  

  3. Is the plasma ever depleted? If so, how?  
  

  4. What products are left after depletion?  
  

  5. How long does it take for a given amount of plasma to be depleted?  
  

  6. Describe the ways stored fusion can be discharged.  
  

  7. How are the direction, magnitude, intensity, velocity, and effect controlled?  
  

  8. What are the risks associated with using magnetic confinement fusion?  
  

  9. What are the advantages and disadvantages of magnetic confinement fusion versus inertial confinement fusion?



\--[[[ What effect does water have on the array

What material are Roy's gloves really made of ]]]--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answers to come. Also, I did a general search on the internet to see which elements represent which directions-- there didn't seem to be any consensus according to google. I chose the answer I saw appear most often and went with it.


	18. attraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of rape, abortion, spousal abuse. Also military + men = sexist attitudes and derogatory language towards women.
> 
> Please let me know if I should add more warnings.

Falling in love is strange, and he's not certain other people would call it falling.

The thing is, in Roy's world (no matter how deeply embroiled he becomes in politics, the military, or the State's Alchemist division, the place he grew up will always be his world), physical attraction isn't weighed the same way as it is in other places. That's not to say it's not important. It's just measured on a different rubric-- like how some people choose a shirt based on color and others by texture. Maybe it's because Roy has seen all the ways physical attractiveness can be manufactured and knows how to manufacture it himself.

Roy hasn't examined this deeply or put a lot of thought into it-- all his thoughts are dedicated to alchemy and Ishval. However, if some enterprising person were to pick apart Roy's rubric of attraction, they would find that while his views aren't unique, they're still slightly skewed compared to society at large.

His sisters showed him that there are two components to physical attraction-- there are biological properties: short, tall, black hair, blonde hair, brown eyes, green eyes, dark skin, tan skin. Not all of these are constants; you can manipulate perception in several different ways. You can dye hair; you can wear heels; you can powder faces. You can tailor clothes to make hips seem wider, chest is larger; wear hats that make a face look rounder; wear jewelry to make a neck seem longer.

The second component is movement. Roy was dragged along to shops and boutiques with his sisters, employed as a pack mule to carry their bags and hatboxes. They were the ones who showed him that there are some clothes which, without a body in it, look unspeakably ugly. But once there was a body, it was incomparable and moved eloquently. So much of how a person perceives physical features depends on the movement in bone and sinew; the movement projects aspects of personality; images of personality reinforce and are reinforced by biological inconstants.

It all circles around so that physical attraction is indelibly linked to inferences about personality, but not quite so linked that they are synonymous. Most johns looking for sex didn't care much about personality so much as the appearance of it-- a woman who looked sexy, a girl who looked shy and virginal, a girl who projected vulnerability, a woman who projected absolute confidence. Regulars came to prefer certain personalities over others-- sympathetic, soothing listeners; some liked his sisters who wore a mask of disdain and treated the john like dirt, etc.

From an adult's perspective, there is nothing new or particularly remarkable about these comments. But Roy _grew up_ around this. His childhood-- the day to day ins and outs of life consisted of sisters who turned into different people in order to gain an advantage. They were always themselves and not themselves when they were at home because once you learn how to wear a mask, it becomes part of you. Whether you like those parts, who knows. But he saw his sisters borrow masks from each other like lipstick, swapped perfume like cigarettes, changed their smiles like walks and talks. It was fun, necessary, exciting, exhausting all at the same time.

There is something fundamentally different when a male child is raised in a completely female household-- a completely female _community_. There are "indelicate" topics that women laugh and joke and talk about only amongst themselves. There are evaluations and opinions of men that they will never reveal before males. Serious warnings to each other about a dangerous john because of "that look." Frank discussions (and laughter) about a johns's sexual performance; the things they find incredibly annoying or ridiculous or disgusting about men; subtle ways to undermine a man's authority; inside jokes that men don't pick up on but women completely understand. The ways men are powerful and dangerous and the ways they are powerless and stupid; the ways they become ugly when a woman laughs at them; the insecurities they harbor in all the predictable places. How to manipulate them, how to trick them, how to slide a knife between their ribs while smiling sweetly.

His sisters treated Roy as one of their own-- to be honest, before puberty, he understood in a shallow, childish way that he was a male, but it didn't matter because he had plenty of sisters who had been male also. Children before puberty don't really differentiate between sexes unless they're raised in an environment that starkly divides them (ie most of society). It didn't _really_ sink in that he was male until he started sprouting hair in unwanted places and didn't get his period. Which sent him into a panic, which made his sisters laugh at him gently and explain that a boy at his age would start to experience "urges." But he didn't want to experience "urges." So many "urges" had led to his sisters dead or crying.

It got serious enough that Chris and others asked him if he had body dysphoria. Roy explained that he didn't feel uncomfortable in his body-- he didn't feel like he was the wrong sex. He just didn't want to become a person who hurt his sisters. This was followed by several conversations and a pointed effort by his sisters not to treat him any differently. What helped most, however, was when Chris had Roy take care of the new girls who were closer to his age. They were usually afraid at first due to his outward appearance, but it didn't take them long to trust him and treat him as one of their own.

When Roy was flung out into the wide world-- the Academy-- it was eye-opening (his apprenticeship didn't count because Master Hawkeye acted a lot like the odd alchemists part of Chris' information network). At the Academy, he learned more about the _societal_ power men casually wielded without even knowing that they were wielding it. Roy already knew the darker aspects of this from a sexual power dynamics perspective, but he'd never truly encountered the "softer" version in an environment saturated with it. He'd never seen it in action in the outside world with the invisible strings made so explicit.

He learned about swagger-- _military_ swagger. Bravado. Overcompensation, bulldozing, picking off the weak, setting rules for success or failure, keeping others in line. There was also that unspoken agreement among all male cadets that they were smarter, faster, stronger, better than all of the female cadets. That the only _real_ competition and power plays were in the boy's club, with status measured in different ways. Of course, one of the measures of dominant maleness was how many women they had sex with.

In this environment, the layers women wrapped around themselves for protection made perfect sense. They were pursued by male cadets; when rejected, they were perceived as "playing hard to get." Or, with so _few_ female cadets, there was a kind of fetishization, that the _girls_ (chicks, babes, hotties, take your pick) embodied the deep unknowns of feminine mystique. On the flip side, there was the discrimination and comments female officers faced from their own subordinates, giving them little choice but to become "frigid bitches" who, men sneered, needed various forms of sexual subjugation to show her " _her place_."

He also recognized the subtle ways women undermined the power of their commanding officers. He found himself listening to the things they said and _heard_ the joke; he saw when female cadets recognized That Look in a male cadet's eyes. There was another dimension, however, that Roy had rarely encountered. His sisters were family, so while there were fights, they always came back to each other. At the Academy, the rivalries and divisions between women were just as strong, if not stronger, than those between women and men.

It was a dynamic he observed distantly and therefore studied subconsciously. The female cadets weren't a _community_. They were often rivals for males' attention, some of them fiercely independent, determined to distance themselves from other women they considered weak or shallow. They were often determined to _prove themselves_ that they were just as skilled, smart, strong, etc, as the male cadets, while at home, his sisters didn't want to be _anything_ _like_ men. His sisters had nothing to prove. Most of them held their own power and wielded it with confidence. Sometimes they competed for a man's attention (stealing another person's regulars was something that was Not Done and valid grounds for War), but it wasn't anything like the Academy.

The world contains multitudes, Chris often reminded him. Surviving means adapting to any circumstance and using it.

No matter where he went, there seemed to be things most other men found inscrutable about women that made complete sense to Roy. After all, Roy learned how to read _men_ from the "weaker, fairer sex's" point of view. This has led to a _world_ of difference in his military career that he cannot even _begin_ to articulate. This way of thinking is deep-- it goes beyond a "courteous" man's "high esteem" for women. It's entrenched in Roy's first reactions, first thoughts, first analysis in any situation. Other perspectives always emerge afterwards.

Roy learned to wield the tangled web of male societal power, but wield it with _intent_. It was a strangely heady feeling to know he could take power for granted, completely secure in the knowledge that society would defer to and protect him because he urinated standing up.

And as a peacetime officer, he used it in conjunction with the layers he grew up with. The combination was astoundingly effective in making officers _obsess_ over him. Male officers could _not_ pin him down, just as they didn't understand what's going on in " _that woman's_ head."

Female officers couldn't pin him down either. There was his reputation as a consummate womanizer, but there was also the fact that he easily signed off on officer's requests for birth control without leering insinuations, or made no comment on their taking days off for their incredibly painful menstruation cycles.

He made jokes among men about requiring women to wear mini skirts and stole Havoc's girlfriends in competition. He fast tracked female officers for promotions they should have received three years ago. He broke regulations, wasted time on the military line, did things only a male officer could get away with, and flaunted his female ~~conquests~~ companions. But none of his female companions had anything bad to say about him. He offered equal combat opportunities to female officers (instead of just sidelining them as was wont to happen) and he _never_ made any advances towards them. 

This was… beyond "treating a woman right." Fast tracking Lt. Grapharian's career, _and_ the raise she got? With no kind of insinuation she owed him for it, legs spread lying back?

Then he would go make a comment in public saying mandatory uniforms would be miniskirts _and_ high heels aaaaand they were back to square one.

Word of mouth-- who knew if these rumors could be true-- but Mandel said that Restani said that Virlndagh said that Petraus said that Cholibt heard that the real reason Lt. Colonel Mustang demoted and killed the career of 2d. Lt. Grassleid's wasn't because of "subpar performance in the field" (though they all agreed Grassleid _was_ subpar)-- it was because Grassleid raped Master Sgt. Weltmasch. Then apparently, Lt. Hawkeye gave Weltmasch a "report" listing safe and discreet gynecologists and abortion clinics, a pre-filled form requesting discretionary funds for "supplemental uniform repairs," and a sheaf of papers detailing all her options, including discharge instructions and pension amounts should a female soldier find themselves "in the family way." In case the Master Sgt. wanted the information, Lt. Hawkeye explained gently. There was no pressure; it was wholly up to Weltmasch.

Why did Mustang know so much about abortions? It must be because he's forced so many women to have them. But Nurse Kendarth said she's never seen one of his dates at the clinic and that any files from the visit are always burned-- it's never reported to Army Medical. Nurse Kendarth doesn't know everything, Mustang's a sly one. But he still demoted Grassleid, the fuckin creep. And maybe it's not Mustang who put together all the information, it could be Hawkeye. But _why_ would she know? She's always covering for the man. Maybe _she's_ had an abortion? Oh my god! Listen, it doesn't matter why Hawkeye or Mustang know this stuff. It means they're in our corner. Yeah, I guess.

But-- falling in love. They say opposites attract; they also say like attracts like. Both are true.

Roy doesn't really think much about sexual attraction consciously. It's there, it's a fact of human existence, what more needs to be said? There are many forms and flavors, there are people who are sexually compatible but nothing else; people who only like women; people who only like men; people who like both; people who like everyone and on and on. His attitude towards sexual attraction is similar to a child who grew up at a cake shop and so doesn't think much about being surrounded by different kinds of cake.

He knows, with great detail, how common mediocre sex is, how easy it is to fake attraction, how easy it is to fake orgasm. Roy's good at sex in the sense that he focuses a lot on whether the other person is enjoying themselves-- it's not difficult to guess where that attitude came from. But where sex is… whatever it is for other people, for Roy, he mostly sees it as a tool. There's pleasure and there can be emotional satisfaction; he's experienced both. But it's like the cake-- if he's in the mood for cake, he'll have cake and it can be satisfying. However, he's never tasted a cake that fills some kind of emotional void or is the best cake he's ever had in his life and so must buy all the cakes.

He grew up in a household where sex is a commodity-- some of his sisters enjoyed it, some were indifferent, some did not, but it was still a transaction. Sex was a _skill_ , not an _expression_ , and he grew up learning about sex from a _female_ point of view. Which, as he found out at the Academy, is _very different_ from the male point of view.

Roy enjoys-- has always enjoyed-- what others consider the "romantic" part of dates: the dressing up, the flowers, the wining and dining. He remembers that for many of the males at the Academy, these gestures were considered more of a burden (complaints about having to spend money on cinema tickets for that stupid romance drama), something they _had_ to do if they wanted any chance to have sex later (maybe she'll be in the mood after seeing all the love stuff in the movie. If you don't fall asleep. That was _one time_! You just never know with girls, it's like playing fuckin roulette. Once I spent so much on a steak dinner and she didn't even invite me up for coffee! That's just cold.)

For Roy, there's definitely a performative aspect to to the romantic gestures, but he gets genuine happiness out of making another person smile. He remembers as a child, he loved to find ways to get his sisters to smile and hug him. He never had much pocket money, but it was enough for an egg custard, five pink carnations, a marble with deep blue and red swirls.

This attitude towards romantic gestures is just another way that Roy is somewhat odd. To Roy, flowers and food and wine aren't a sign of special attraction or chemistry. In this one thing, Roy does it _for himself_ when most others make the gesture _for the other person_. Roy didn't bother to explain this difference to Hughes, which led to Hughes making assumptions (Hughes is one of the most insightful people Roy knows, but part of the reason why they've remained friends, aside from the common goal, is because every time Hughes thinks he knows how Roy ticks, Roy does something completely out of character).

Hughes saw Roy's enthusiasm for romantic gestures. It naturally followed that Roy was searching for his One True Love to marry them. Because marriage is The Ultimate Romantic Gesture. Making promises of undying love, tying your lives together for better or worse, sickness or health, to gaze into each other's eyes before god and all witnesses in a testament to the Love and Devotion (and the benefit of beautiful flowers, delicious cake, decadent dresses-- see? Hughes understands Roy). The fact that Roy grew up where he grew up-- every prostitute wanted to be taken away from that world and swept off their feet, right? (Hughes is insightful, but also carries some extremely common stereotypes about the women who raised Roy.)

Roy's answer: No, not really.

This is something that Hughes fundamentally doesn't understand. Hughes is a cynic-- he compensates for that by being a disgusting romantic when it comes to Gracia. Roy assumes the attitude extends to sex-- the whole "two souls joining as one" thing. So Roy just ignores Hughes' increasingly blunt remarks disguised as jokes that Roy should (needs to) get married and find some happiness before he works himself into the ground.

The thing is, in Roy's world, some of the most profound relationships he's ever seen are between two (or more) people who _weren't_ married, whether out of choice or because it was illegal. Some of his sisters were in committed relationships and continued to do sex work because they liked it, they were good at it, and it paid well. Roy grew up around women who _ran away_ from their marriages; women who were _very good_ at seeing through a man's intentions. They were _not charmed_ by men who "fell in love" with them with aspirations to "take them away from this awful, degrading life," but who really had some kind of saviour complex or ended up being controlling bastards who held the fact that their wife had once been a sex worker over her head to keep her in line.

Roy grew up with stories about how his sister married young, they were school sweethearts, but something changed. He started drinking, cheating, yelling, punching-- any number of things. Or she married a wealthy man for the sake of her family-- he was kind during their courtship-- then it turned out he was a sadist who tied her up and gagged her and whipped her feet so she couldn't walk. Or she was attending university when they met at a bookstore-- it was love at first sight-- and she didn't see how he was isolating her from her friends, family, until she depended on him for everything. How she put her life on the line just by running away and was still afraid one day he'd find her and beat the shit out of her. Or kill her. It had happened before with other sex workers.

So to Roy, marriage is _not_ a romantic gesture. It's not an expression of love. It doesn't join soulmates together, it doesn't bring happiness. To Roy, marriage is a _trap_ , one that men (and some women) use to exert physical, emotional, financial control over their spouse's life.

He grew up in a neighborhood where only a few couples were married, and most weren't. As far as he's concerned, marriage doesn't make _any_ difference to the strength and depth of a relationship.

Roy is aware that there are plenty of happy marriages (see: Hughes). But there are some things you learn as a child that lodge in your brain and _stay_ there, no matter what logic and adult experience says. As he grew older, the fact that many marriages continued to be unhappy or abusive only reinforced this impression-- confirmation bias, but that doesn't change the fact that it's still true. And will always be true.

Sometimes, when Hughes is visiting East HQ or when Roy's in Central, he catches Hughes looking at him with an expression close to pity. That the military won't, at least in their lifetimes, allow such a marriage.

But the rule doesn't bother him. As long as he has his partner by his side and they support each other, that's all that matters. True, he would have liked to buy dozens of flowers to coax a smile, but there are other ways to tease it out.

They know each other and accept each other, despite _everything_ Roy's done. They understand each other. They don't need words and can read the important things off each other's eyes. They protect each other and would die for each other.

What more does love need?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think a lot of people might (will?) disagree with my characterization of Roy in this chapter, and that's totally great! Tis the beauty of fandom.
> 
> My perspective comes from a few things:
> 
> 1) I've worked in an all-female environment and it's a completely different dynamic from a mixed gender environment. My co-workers talked about everything Roy's sisters talk about. (Except the killing stuff.) I think that dynamic definitely shaped Roy's perception of the world.
> 
> 2) I'm aware that Roy comes off as a bit indifferent to sex here, but I really do think that because Roy got so much exposure to sex and its mechanics-- including its violence-- it had an impact on his attitude/thoughts/feelings. Sex is just part of the landscape.
> 
> 3) My parents' marriage was abusive. Not only that, my mother refused to leave my father despite the fact over time, most of his abuse shifted and was directed at me. I'm fine now-- therapy, time, etc. But this always has, and always will, color my perception of marriage.
> 
> Please be sensitive to fact no. 3 if you choose to leave a comment.
> 
> Thanks!


	19. chimera

Roy is a bastard. This is why:

The first time he was introduced to Shou Tucker, sirens went off in his head. He dug up Tucker's files from East City Library-- date of birth, educational background, family, specialty, date of certification. Tucker had passed the exam by creating a talking chimera. A talking chimera whose only words were "I want to die." A reference to a separate report detailed the progress of the chimera, who only repeated "I want to die," and refused food. The photos showed an increasingly emaciated figure, then a necropsy and observations on the chimera's brain as compared to other intelligent chimeras.

Roy had no _proof_ , but he _knew_. He pulled up Tucker's records. Marriage certificate, information on Rose Tucker, the wife who left him, Nina Tucker their daughter. It didn't say exactly _when_ Rose left Tucker-- casual inquiry revealed that no one had ever seen Tucker's wife; someone mentioned that Tucker said she'd left him before he became a state alchemist. But Nina would have been one, two years old _at most_. Would Rose have left Tucker without taking Nina with her?

He has no proof.

Roy was there when Tucker failed his re-certification exam. He didn't have any part or say in the evaluation-- Tucker was part of the research arm of the state alchemy program and so was judged by his peers-- but even he could tell that Tucker had failed. The man had a near breakdown when Roy, as the highest ranking state alchemist in East division, gave Tucker his results.

He asked Breda to keep an eye on Tucker's bank accounts and told Havoc to keep his ear low to the ground for any news of people disappearing. Not killed, but disappearing. There was no news-- and no news was good news. There was also the fact that they were always cleaning up after the trail of destruction (not malicious, but often oblivious and careless) Fullmetal left in his wake.

Fullmetal doesn't consider himself a child-- and he isn't, not anymore. But his height, hair trigger temper, general recklessness and immaturity have been a gift Roy could never have anticipated. Fullmetal may not be a child and Roy doesn't consider him a child, but there are things children can get away with, spaces children can trespass that adults cannot, things adults reveal in front of children because children are _harmless_.

Fullmetal's reputation always precedes him, but his height does not. The vast majority of adults only know Fullmetal through hearsay and when the appearance falls far, _far_ short of their expectations, it causes them to write off _everything_ they've heard about him. Because he's a kid with a metal arm and an overdramatic red coat followed around by a gigantic suit of armor who claims to be his younger brother. The "famous Fullmetal alchemist" yells, throws tantrums, doesn't respect authority or his elders. He's a spoiled kid who thinks he's hot stuff because he can clap his hands together (let's see, where has Roy heard this before?).

That suits the authorities just fine. Young hotheads are so easy to manipulate. Just misdirect him a little and soon enough the brat will be out of town and on his way.

They don't know how sharp Fullmetal is. They forget he's a State Alchemist and the power that rank holds. More than that-- they forget the power who stands behind him.

Roy kept his promise to the boys, allowing them to track down any lead, no matter how obscure, on the Philosopher's Stone. It's not completely altruistic-- Roy doesn't _do_ altruism. Even if Fullmetal weren't the disaster that he is, any findings could be important and/or dangerous (usually the two went hand in hand).

Fullmetal and his brother are geniuses in alchemy. They know-- and have the patience-- to sift through mystical ramblings of a prophet who believed the moon farted on them in a dream and the fumes contained the secret formulas for mass producing completely safe, totally not addictive, absolutely spiritual hallucinogenic mushroom moonwater; versus the code upon code upon code that alchemists use to hide their secrets. The compendium of research Fullmetal puts together at the end of the year and demonstrates at his re-certification exam is enough to renew his license.

However, Fullmetal _is_ who he is, which is to say a kid who can't help but find trouble (make trouble) and _solve things_ until everyone who was trapped in nightmares of carnivorous mushrooms shaped as caterpillars eating their toes were safely detoxed and the aspiring prophet kingpin was arrested. Fullmetal didn't stay longer than that, assuming Roy would be behind him to bring the scraggly bearded drug dealer to justice. Which Roy gladly handed off to Hughes as it wasn't part of his jurisdiction. Which Hughes just as gladly assigned to whichever Eastern Command intelligence officer who'd pissed him off recently.

Fullmetal has been writing mission reports since he was twelve. As a twelve year old who'd never learned to write in paragraphs, Roy took it upon himself to teach Fullmetal the basics:

Form 1: General report

  * Write a list.
  * Do not, under any circumstances, mention _anything_ related to the philosopher's stone.
  * Write the date, place, any important names.
  * Lay out the events from beginning to end.
  * Havoc will take care of the rest.



Form 2: Alchemist's report

  * Write a list.
  * Focus on alchemy.
  * Do _not_ , under _any circumstances_ write anything related to the philosopher's stone. (double underline bolded written in red and stamped across Fullmetal's pouting enraged chipmunk face)



Roy reviewed Fullmetal's alchemist reports personally. He actually had Breda _and_ Havoc take a pass through the general report, editing anything out before having it officially filed. He trusted Breda to flag anything worth bringing up.

Fullmetal's general reports were heavy on descriptions of bar fights and food, thin on politics. But between Breda and Havoc, they often extracted more than Roy did about the small town politics that surrounded the bar fights or the economic conditions around the food. Havoc in particular would laugh and say, out of the blue, that the hotel manager was having an affair with the banker because of such and such something something shipments of pork, somehow gleaning all this from Fullmetal's descriptions of his dinner of ham, mashed potatoes, and a litany of complaints about the gravy.

Roy was a city boy, through and through. Some of the food Fullmetal went into raptures about (pig skin cracklings?) made Roy queasy. Hero of Ishval, war criminal responsible for genocide and working tirelessly to overthrow the government apparently drew the line at thrice-pickled rooster feet. (He was also fairly certain Havoc was fucking with him out of revenge.)

Aside from the food, Fullmetal's alchemy reports were interesting because they showed what had caught his attention and where he might focus next. So when Roy got the report about Liore, Fullmetal's interest in chimeras could not have been written any larger.

Which Roy could use to his advantage to kill a flock of birds with one stone: discharge his debt to Fullmetal, help the boys get closer to their goals-- and if it just so happened that Tucker's state alchemy evaluation was coming up while the Elric brothers happened to keep Nina company, well. Roy would have a lot of dead birds.

What he did _not_ foresee was how quickly Tucker was able to transmute his daughter.

Chimeras took _time_ to create. Successfully making one required multiple transmutation circles keyed to specific biological markers of both species, each transmutation circle inscribed with detailed sigils to "sew together" limbs, organs-- _brains_ \-- at each stage.

That it took Tucker less than _12 hours_ to combine Nina and Alexander meant Tucker had already mapped it out a _long_ time ago-- a contingency plan, so to speak. Just as he'd used his wife two years ago.

Roy is often right, and is often not afforded the satisfaction of being right. Because the things he's right about-- those are things no one wants to have anticipated clearly.

And isn't it _hilarious_ , isn't it _astoundingly_ appropriate for him to say to Fullmetal what Kimblee said to him.

( _The moment you put on this uniform out of your own free will, you knew something like this might be expected of you. If you don't like it, you shouldn't have put it on in the first place. Why do you act as though you're the victims, when this was the path you chose, free of coercion._ )

It was raining this time, and it wasn't genocide, but it was horrifying and for Fullmetal, it was personal. Tucker had said something that reached deep into Fullmetal and _pulled_. He was sitting on the steps with shoulders slumped in defeat-- up until now, Fullmetal had always _saved_ people. The only people he'd failed were himself and his brother.

But Fullmetal isn't a child. Roy saw in his haunted face and bloody metal fist that Fullmetal's perception of the world was getting bigger quickly-- maybe even too quickly, like balloon stuck on a tank of helium, gas at full throttle.

Fullmetal's smart, far from innocent and certain in the way that all teenagers are certain that he _knows_ the depth and breadth of the world. He knows there's evil out there. Bad people who want to hurt others. He's faced them down, and he's won. Terrorists holding a train hostage? Been there. Corrupt officials who choke lives of others just to line their pockets? Done that.

However, there is evil, and then there is _evil_. Fullmetal's world was beginning to encompass things he'd known existed but had never _faced_.

Tucker was that quiet, insidious of evil. Another alchemist in search of knowledge, but knowledge corrupted by the lives it consumed. An alchemist who spoke perverted truths and held up an image of what an alchemist could become.

_How long are you going to be depressed?_

He said it because Fullmetal had almost killed Tucker today. He said it because at some point, Fullmetal was going to have to choose: whether he was willing to kill to get what he wanted, to mete out his own form of justice in the world, to defend himself, whatever reason; or was he going to find some other way forward.

_It was_ you _who chose to keep studying alchemy. You_ chose _to join the military, when you could have lived the rest of your life the best you could, with the body you have._

He said it because Fullmetal had to be prepared: that there are consequences to putting on the uniform and if he couldn't handle it and all its implications, he should stop here.

_You'll come across more cases like this as you go on-- you might even have to get your hands dirty. Are you going to come to a standstill every time something like this happens?_

Fullmetal's answer-- _we're just pathetic human beings!_ \-- that was answer enough.

As for Roy: he'd killed a flock of birds. Just not all the ones he'd intended to kill.


	20. the fringe district

Roy knows, looking back, that Chris thought he'd have more questions about what happened to his parents, who they were, did they love him, where did they live. She told Namari all the details, assuming that Roy would ask as soon as he was able to string two sentences in a row.

But other than the obligatory phase at the beginning of his life with Chris where he asked where his mother and father were ("they've gone away," or, in Ness' case, "they're dead, brat"); where were they ("heaven," "far away," "in a casket underground"); could he go to them ("no, sweetie," "I can have that arranged" "Ness!" "What? I wouldn't actually _do_ anything"); would they visit ("they're always watching over you," "they love you very much," "in your nightmares"); etc, the questions never really materialized.

Whether he was satisfied with the answers, or satisfied that they gave him answers (no matter how vague or contradictory), or lost interest altogether, Chris could never tell. But a large part of his disinterest was that Amestris is war country. Even in Central-- but especially in Roy's neighborhood-- there were plenty of children who had one parent or no parents. It was normal, so Roy didn't think it was a big deal that he'd lost his mother and father, that he didn't really remember them, and that he never found out what had happened to them.

This was only reinforced by the fact that new people appeared often in the neighborhood accompanied by children. Women with babies-- their own or their relatives', or an older sibling with younger siblings in tow, or girls who were scared and pregnant. It just led him to believe that his circumstances were actually not unique-- that they were the _norm_.

If Roy were asked to describe the neighborhood he grew up in, the simplest answer would probably be the Fringe District, the infamous place where, if you knew the right people and had the right code words, you would find a grand world of resplendent debauchery: spectacular drag shows, amazing hostess/host bars, exotic strip clubs, ribald cabarets and of course, the rainbow flavored types of sex a curious person could sample. The truth is, however, always more mundane and more complicated than its flashy exterior.

The Fringe District actually began as a block of crumbling tenement houses shared by refugees-- which usually meant a variety of Amesterian ethnic groups-- and fringesexuals. It was essentially one of Central's dumping grounds for marginalized people. Over time, each group self segregated to what could be vaguely described as ethnic neighborhoods, but the segregation was not so strict that an outsider could distinguish boundaries. You had to live in the district to know that the entire fourth floor of Blakeshouse was occupied by Xingan immigrants (or rather, individuals who escaped assassination from their political enemies); that there was an Ishvalan temple tucked behind Newsbaum's apothecary; most Drachmans were spread out along tenements six to eight.

And fringesexuals were no different. A lot of groups might have prejudices against fringesexuals, but everyone in the neighborhood was just trying to make a living. Of course there were fights between neighbors (though infighting was actually more fierce), but nothing as dramatic as ethnic gangs roving the neighborhoods. Central military police raided all the poor neighborhoods regularly under the pretense of preventing criminal activity when really, it was just another way of asserting control and keeping _the outsiders_ away from _the citizens_.

Chris' mother and father-- Roy's grandparents-- were actually a well to do, middle class family who disowned Chris when they caught him wearing a dress and kissing a boy. Chris had been sixteen at the time and his boyfriend, from another well to do, middle class family, freaked out and abandoned Chris also. Through a series of convoluted connections and rumors, Chris found himself working at a bar run by fringesexuals. They were sympathetic-- they had all been where Chris was or they knew someone in Chris' position. Chris got housing, a small but steady wage. He picked up odd jobs to make more money on the side but most importantly, Chris explored his identity.

Given permission to breathe, Chris found others who were not _he_ , but _she_. They were able to recommend apothecaries that sold estrogen, doctors who, though they'd lost their licenses, were able to guide Chris through her transition. Since then, Chris has been able to pay that kindness forward, including to Roland, formerly Helene.

Not only did Chris find her body and self, but she found out she had a valuable skill set-- the ability to extract information. She somehow always knew when the MPs were going to raid the neighborhood. She was in the right place at the right time to do someone a favor, and had an uncanny way of knowing when to cash in on those favors. It seemed like everyone in the neighborhood knew Chris and liked her. She might be a little plain in appearance and it was well known that she was fringe, but she'd helped so-and-so for such-and-such and no one had anything bad to say against her.

Chris inherited the bar at 31 when the owners, after 19 years as lovers and partners, broke up. It turned out that Loise had been having an affair with one of the bar's regulars and then married him. In some ways it made sense: Loise was happy enough, but always craved the respectability that came with living in the upper middle class neighborhoods of Central. Sayama was heartbroken and didn't want the bar anymore. She had built it together with Loise: it had been their home and dream and promise of a life together. She sold it to Chris at a deep discount (really, Sayama gave the bar to Chris) and moved out of Central to go West-- she had some friends there.

To be honest, Chris might be very good at gathering information, but she was abysmal at business. Arranging shifts for bartenders, talking to their suppliers, paying for the electricity bill were not her forte. Chris was best behind the bar pouring drinks, not behind a desk poring over accounts. But, since Chris was good at gathering information, she found a good business partner in a former drag queen who went by Contessa.

Contessa, long over the drag scene, absolutely jumped at the chance to run the small bar. She had Great Plans and very good financial acumen and business sense. Contessa was the one hired hostesses; she was the one who converted the bar's messy back rooms into private booths for customers who wanted "private conversations." The new hostess bar was successful enough that it gave Contessa the capital to move to a larger venue that could hold more than ten people.

Expansion of business and more income were great, but Chris and Contessa got into fights because Contessa's cutthroat business sense meant she was inclined to pay her workers less, while Chris refused to let that happen. The compromise: in exchange for (much) lower wages, the hostesses got free room and board. Contessa's original plans for the new venue was to have a multi-story club, but the upper floors would require a lot of renovating and construction work. It was a setback in Contessa's plans, but not a major one.

Roy never met Contessa because Contessa's ambitions were her own undoing. She borrowed money from a few sharks to buy the dilapidated building across the street from the new hostess bar. It had, incidentally, been a hotel in another era, and so much more appropriate for her vision of a multistory club. But the problem always came back to money. The hostess bar was making money, but not nearly enough for the renovations that the former hotel needed to be converted to a club.

If Contessa hadn't counted her chickens before they hatched, she would have put that business acumen to use and opened the first floor as another bar, then slowly worked to convert the upper floors. However, she saw an easier, much more lucrative way of getting cash: whoring. And not just any kind of whoring. She began pimping out girls to individuals with _specific_ tastes who would pay higher fees for the privilege.

When Chris found out-- that was the end. Contessa found herself on the business end of Ness' horrific smile.

Chris shut down operations as quickly as possible, but it turned out the problem went far, _far_ deeper. It wasn't just pimping out girls. Contessa's victims weren't from the neighborhood; she wasn't stupid. The girls were refugees "recruited" by Contessa's other business partner Evangeline, a woman with a very sincere face who plied the refugees with sympathy and promises of safety, food and a warm bed. Some of the girls were genetically male, lured in by the promise of medical treatment and a fringesexual community.

When they arrived at the premises and locked in the rooms, the girls found out exactly how sincere Evangeline was about how they had to repay her kindness.

Contessa and Evangeline had set up the beginnings of a trafficking operation. Perhaps what was worse was that the damage was done-- word had spread to god knows what corners of Amestris that there was a place refugees could go to start a life in Central. And word had spread to god knows what corners of Central that there was a place where you could do anything to the whores-- for a certain price-- and the pimps would look the other way. All they had to do was find a woman named Evangeline.

It was a huge mess. Contessa and Evangeline (also hunted down by Ness) were gone, but they still owed a _lot_ of money to the loan sharks. As Contessa's former business partner, the debt fell on Chris.

For a few months, Chris did a lot of intelligence gathering to get as much dirt on the loan sharks as possible. She hoped to buy more time to pay them off. It worked, to a certain extent. But there were also the clients Evangeline had booked who, instead of finding their favorite whore to abuse, found empty rooms. Some johns shrugged it off, assuming the operation had been shut down by the MPs. That's just how the business went. Some others-- the obsessive, dangerous ones, headed straight to Chris' bar to find out what had happened, when was it going to reopen, come here sweetheart I can pay you a lot more than this broad is paying you, at which point they found themselves face to face with Chris' gun.

To top it all off, there were the refugees that seemed to show up in increasing numbers every day.

Chris had the house boarded up and "condemned" to deter both the johns and the newcomers. She was considering selling it, but there weren't any buyers unless she was willing to essentially give it away for free. It came to the point where some of the refugees began squatting in the building when the solution appeared.

There wasn't one person who came up with the idea, per se; one of the hostesses had a few friends who were professional sex workers. They always complained to her about how hard it was to find a decent place to run their business; during another conversation, she happened to mention the situation with Chris and the shitty hotel. One thing led to another and they approached Chris, asking if the rooms in the building were available for rent. Chris said yes-- and charged a lot of money. The loans were coming due.

For the sex workers, they considered it a good deal, especially since they knew where the money was going. Chris wasn't a pimp and didn't demand a cut of their earnings. The sex workers were free to come and go as they pleased. As long as they didn't endanger anyone else in the building, the room was their space to do what they wanted. Any repairs or extras, they'd have to pay out of pocket.

This had two unexpected consequences. First, since the sex workers were paying off part of the building, they felt a sense of ownership over the space-- something they'd never really had before. Owning their space allowed them to set the rules; owning the space allowed them to make whatever repairs and redecorate however they wanted. Working together, pooling their money, fighting amongst _themselves_ \-- not putting up with shitty landlords who refused to fix the pipes or neighbors who threatened to call the MPs-- but insulting each other's taste on whether the carpet should be red or maroon and _no_ , Tryn, they _were not_ going to install chandelier, for fuck's sake-- it built their community.

Second, the rent was high enough that only sex workers could afford it. Even if someone else could afford it, Chris made it clear that it was their space, their rules, they could choose their tenants. There weren't enough (or _any_ ) safe spaces for sex workers-- it became a rule that only sex workers were allowed to rent a room. Refugees still came begging and sure, they felt sorry for the poor, penniless girls, but not so sorry that they were going to give them free housing. Besides, they weren't going to put up with the attitudes that some of the refugees brought with them: that they were better than the _whores_ and _prostitutes_ and wouldn't _lower themselves_ to that kind of _degradation_.

Chris still felt responsible for the predicament of some of the women, girls, and boys who washed up on the hotel's shores. She made it a policy to always have the small back room open for someone who might truly need it. And "truly need" was a very specific criteria.

There were those who came to Central who _were_ desperate, but it was a desperation that strengthened their resolve to get through hard times. They might be running low on fuel, but they had enough to keep going. Chris was usually able to refer them to a few people who might be able to help.

Then there was the look of a person who'd lost their last hope. Those were the ones who found themselves in the back room, a small boy with a shy smile bringing a tray of warm milk and cookies.

Not all of Chris' hostesses lived at the bar, and many who did live at the bar only stayed for a few months-- enough time to get their bearings, save some money and find another job in Central. The turnover rate at Chris' bar was high because that's just how the business went. Some fell in love with another person in the neighborhood and went to live with them. Some left to open their own business. Just as it was normal in Roy's neighborhood for children to have no parents, it was normal for Roy to have a sister for a month, who would drop by every so often or might never be seen again.

Some of his sisters moved across the street; some of the girls from across the street moved to the bar; it was all fluid. Roy's concept of family could never be easily defined as "nuclear" and "extended." People came and went, that's just how it was. Desperate people often clung hard and fast to the first stable thing they came across, which explained the depth and intensity of the relationships. As a child, Roy's sense of time was forever and a day anyway-- what some adults might write off as a few weeks was a child's equivalent of a lifetime.

Meanwhile, the neighborhood continued to evolve around them. By the time Roy came to the Fringe District, it was beginning to take the form it was famous for. And hidden between the cabarets and strip clubs were also bookstores that sold illegal literature and transgressive art, shops that sold sex toys, tailors for men and women who wanted to pass but didn't want surgery.

A little further removed, you could find one or two apothecaries who made and distributed remedies for venereal diseases and sold estrogen or testosterone, a few doctors of varying degrees of scruples, trustworthiness, and standards of hygiene: the cheap ones who occasionally rinsed their surgical tools before performing abortions; the ones who were willing to provide fake prescriptions for addictive medications; the more professional ones who oversaw transitions from MTF or FTM. There were four alchemists in Central who did breast implants or bottom surgery. Rollie was the only one who lived in the Fringe District.

And where people live, people must also eat. In addition to the different ethnic restaurants a few blocks in any direction, there were also cafes, bakeries, restaurants, grocers-- all owned and run by fringesexual individuals who became couples who became families. And because hodgepodge of people all lived in the same neighborhood, they all went to the same school. It somehow happened that their physics teacher was Ishvalan, their biology teacher was transitioning from female to male, they learned mathematics from a very strict Drachman, and the language teacher's curriculum was a bit heavy on classic Xingan literature.

The hate crimes were for fringesexuals and the ethnic groups alike. They didn't happen regularly, but they happened often enough. In the case of his sisters, some were killed because they were trans. Others were killed because a john fell in love with them and had been rejected. Still others were killed not because of sex work but because they were part of Chris' network. Then there was, of course, the sexual violence.

The thing about belonging to and living in a place you consider _your_ neighborhood is that you feel safe. You let your guard down. These are your people; the extreme wariness and paranoia you might carry in any other place is relaxed here, at night, on your way home.

But bigots hide; they roam in packs; they get drunk and mean and when it's three of them and one of you, all of a sudden they see you as fair game. There were plenty of times where his sisters were able to get to safety-- split lip and torn clothes and raped, but still alive, and there were plenty of times people in the neighborhood were able to protect their own, but sometimes you're too late, or sometimes they knock you out with a crack to the skull, sometimes they're just too strong or fast or focused. There's any number of reasons.

Roy, at the Academy, sometimes overheard the laughter, the derogatory comments, the mean smiles of intent. He refused to leave to chance whether they meant it seriously or not. He put Chris' lessons to good work; found leverage. The next time the topic came up, he'd drop a hint, then ask solicitously if Mikler was feeling well-- he'd gone quite pale.

Hughes used to hang out with similar bastards, which was one of the reasons why Roy had hated him. Getting to know Hughes and the way he worked explained a lot of things to Roy. As they became friends, Roy cautiously, gradually introduced Hughes to the people in his world. Hughes, like the shapeshifter he was, fit in just fine (except for a few occasions where he jammed his foot so hard down his mouth it came out his asshole). He wasn't adopted-- anyone who saw him could tell he wasn't part of the neighborhood because he always carried the aura of an outsider (it drove Hughes _crazy_ that he couldn't fully blend in)-- but he was welcome.

Riza was the only other person he really introduced to his world. She was initially reserved and polite, but apparently his sisters had planned a Campaign to see if Riza was truly worthy of their little brother. There were lunches Roy didn't know about, shopping trips, girls' nights that he _wasn't_ invited to (it made him pout-- why did _Riza_ suddenly get to go on manicure dates?). Riza became more friendly, relaxed-- one of his sisters even tried to seduce her ("if you're not fucking her, why can't I?" "Lan!" "I'm just saying..." "Lan, please refrain from sleeping with _any_ of my subordinates" "okay" "thank you" "but if they offer, I'm not gonna say no" "so help me god Lan I will _strangle you_ ").

The rest of his team got an introduction in the sense that it related strictly to work. If Roy was overly familiar with the hostesses, well. Every lie is built on a kernel of truth, right?

After Fullmetal passed his State Alchemist exam, Riza was surprised that Roy just... let the boy loose on the world. She thought he'd take a more parental role, give more guidance, act like an older brother. Roy didn't do any of those things. The only guidance he gave was in the form of the types of orders he gave. Roy carefully curated the places he had Fullmetal go-- he didn't send a 12 year old to investigate a series of gruesome alchemical killings. He _did_ send Fullmetal to a library in a sleepy town at the base of a hill known for mudslides, where forecasters anticipated an unprecedented deluge of rain.

Fullmetal's attitude was common enough in Roy's neighborhood of people trying to get back on their feet-- refusing any more help, insisting they could do the rest by themselves, and only admitting through gritted teeth that something was too much for them to handle. Fullmetal would come to him, or not. His determination to get his and Alphonse's bodies back already showed Roy that if Fullmetal messed up, he'd either try to fix it himself or eventually concede that he needed help.

He knew that the relationship the boys would build with Riza would be very different: all the facts of Fullmetal's life showed he trusted women a lot more than men (and for good reason). There was no point in Roy trying to befriend the boy and build himself up as an ally. And it's not what Fullmetal needed. Fullmetal had a mission, yes, but Roy knew it would be a long and hard one-- searching for a legendary stone that may or may not exist-- he might search for years and come up with nothing. Constantly chasing leads that only led to disappointment took a psychological toll. Roy knew this full well: overthrowing the government felt like his own search for the philosopher's stone.

Fullmetal needed a motivator outside his mission, an external force he could push against when his personal mission was frustrated. The best thing Roy could do was to provide Fullmetal a target. Any other officer would lash out in anger if Fullmetal spoke to them the way he did to Roy; any other alchemist would be insanely jealous of Fullmetal's genius and seek to crush him. Roy didn't. Riza thought Roy was treating Fullmetal like an adult, but he wasn't. If Fullmetal were an adult, he wouldn't need any of the support Roy laid out in the background and paved for him going forward. Like the missions, his and Fullmetal's antagonistic relationship was another way of providing safe harbor. Besides, it was entertaining to rile the kid up.

Then Riza accused him of treating Fullmetal like a child when he lied about Hughes-- perhaps it was true, in part. It was also true, in part, telling Armstrong that the Elric brothers would feel guilty about Hughes being dragged into their quest. But the part he'd hidden from himself was: in that moment where Edward smiled at him saying they were there to visit Hughes, Roy _hated_ Fullmetal.

Roy grew up without a clear sense of nuclear family-- the years spent with Hughes and Riza gave him more than camaraderie. Hughes was his _brother_. Roy had more sisters than most people could count on all their friends' fingers, but Hughes was his brother. He and Hughes had shared experiences Fullmetal couldn't even _begin_ to comprehend; he and Hughes knew things about each other that no one else knew and this _brat_ , this _child_ who broke alchemy's first taboo and went gallivanting around the countryside chasing a _fucking myth_ like he didn't have a _fucking care in the world_ had roped Hughes in and gotten him _killed_.

Hughes, who survived Ishval. Who survived and emerged at the top of the viper's pit of Central Intelligence. Who compartmentalized his life but for some _stupid fucking reason_ let _Edward Elric_ slip between the cracks and ultimately got killed for it. Roy knew Hughes couldn't keep his head out of things. Roy knew that if Hughes had gotten involved, it was for a good reason, because he suspected something. Roy knew Hughes was a fucking adult who made his own choices and that they _all_ knew this was a dangerous game that had never been a game. But in that one moment, _Roy did not care_.

So he lied. Because he knew it would hurt Fullmetal twice as much to know that Hughes had died looking into the stone and that Roy, who Fullmetal might huff and puff that the colonel was an smug self absorbed unbearable bastard, but who Fullmetal ultimately trusted, had lied to him. And Riza called him out on it, saying it was cruel.

But not for the right reasons. Riza was loyal, sharp, and watched his back. She was their moral compass and as a moral compass, thought in clear, straight lines. Roy could not live without her but she _was not Hughes_ and _did not know_. Where Hughes would have grinned at Roy like a tiger going in for the kill, Riza assumed Roy was making a poor attempt at sparing Fullmetal's feelings.

And there was _some_ truth when he said that _in order for the brothers to move forwards, the fewer obstacles in their way, the better_. But how long was Fullmetal really going to remain ignorant? A few hours, tops. There was a fucking internal investigation going on regarding Hughes' death. If Fullmetal wasn't dragged in for questioning, he'd overhear it from some passing soldier. Better yet, he'd run into Havoc or Fuery and step on that landmine.

Riza assumed that he was referring to Fullmetal when he said he was _just as much of a softie as the major_ , but that was the furthest thing from the truth. It was his last gift to Hughes, and Hughes would understand. Finding Hughes' murderer-- that was something for the living. That was something for Roy. This-- the pointless, needlessly cruel lie disguised as kindness to a teenage child whose self absorbed quest made his wife a widow and his daughter fatherless-- this was for Hughes, and Hughes alone. This is what Hughes would have done-- with a bigger smile and a more sincere voice-- if Roy had been the one murdered. No matter how much civilian life might have softened some of Hughes' edges, he was still a bastard with a sick sense of humor.

Best of all, Hughes was now Roy's true blood brother.

Because if there's one thing to understand about the Fringe District, it's that under the glitz and glamour and glory holes, there's a corpse of a whore underneath it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised Feb. 7 for typos.


	21. Havoc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponds to Ch. 2 and a bit of Ch. 1 in Nonymos' _Groundwork Days_.
> 
> Trigger warning: brief description of an execution of a child.
> 
> Also, what Roy does here with respect to information gathering is a pretty large breach in privacy and very invasive. He doesn't see anything wrong with it (nor does Hughes), he'll keep doing it, and it's the bread and butter of Chris' intelligence network.

"He's clean," Hughes said.

Master Sergeant Jean Havoc's preliminary evaluation:

Hughes 

  * Jack of all trades, master of none
    * "You, Riza, me, and Fuery have everything major covered: alchemy, field ops, intelligence, comms. It'd be good to have a soldier to round out the group."
  * Wide circle of friends and acquaintances
    * "Obvious advantage. Covers a circuit that I haven't focused on: mid and lower rank intel."
  * Flirt, no animosity with his ex-girlfriends
    * "No enemies, not likely to make any in the future."
  * Well liked
    * "And genuine, unlike you and me. They want to trust him; he makes it easy, so they do."
  * No known political affiliation
    * "Your territory, Roy, not mine. But Academy days-- no red flags."
  * Not a chess player
    * "We have enough of those." "You only have one! Me!" "Exactly." "Lt. Hawkeye, am I meant to feel flattered or insulted?" "I think both, Lt. Colonel Hughes." "That's what I thought."



Riza 

  * Solid shot
    * "Good marks at the shooting range. Proficient in a variety of guns, knows how to handle them." "But?" "He's never killed a person before."
  * Team player
    * "Checks in with everyone before he leaves the office, willing to help if he can. Doesn't hold it as a favor owed-- assumes others will have his back."
  * Competent with after action reports
    * "I don't appreciate what you're implying, Lt. Hawkeye." "Not everything is about you, sir. It helps alleviate _my_ workload." Hughes snickers in the background.
  * Establishes easy rapport with soldiers under his command
    * "Officer quality. They trust him to give good orders."
  * Takes orders well
    * "Ambitious?" "Not particularly, sir."
  * Discreet
    * "I've overheard some conversations-- he gives noncommittal answers with respect to his own work and this unit's assignments, but commiserates with other soldiers."



A pause.

"Roy?"

"What?"

"Have you even _met_ the man?" Hughes asks, exasperated.

"He's tall. And blond."

"Why do I even--"

"Lt. Hawkeye."

"Sir."

"Let's see how he does in the field."

"Ooooh, snappy fingers time, huh?"

"The best part," Roy agrees, smiling.

"You know, some of the young officers have been reporting that they have shell shock after enduring your training exercises."

Roy, Hughes, and Riza pause at that statement. There's… really no reply.

"And his politics?" Riza asks to get them back on track.

"Reserving judgment."

Hughes snorts.

"You both already admitted he's an amorphous quality. I haven't had a chance to meet him up close, and _no_ , Hughes, I've had very good reasons for being elsewhere."

"Shopping for a coat?"

"As it so happens, yes. It's difficult to find a tailor in East City comparable to Central. Hughes, you said his closest friend is Breda?"

"Judge by the company we keep-- good idea. I'll look into it."

Dial tone.

"Do you really have a lead on a potential alchemist recruit, sir?"

"Until I get more definitive information, I can't say for certain. Let's see what Havoc has to offer first."

"Vandenbrook and Markel, sir?"

"I believe you already know the answer to that."

Riza is silent. Roy answers her question.

"Vandenbrook is a fine officer-- righteous, and good intentions. But she's been passed over for promotions too many times. I can deal with an officer who personally dislikes me, but jealousy is different. Vandenbrook doesn't dislike _me_ : she despises my rank and how I got it. I'm not the true focus of those feelings.

"I'll make sure she's transferred to Colonel Guin; she'll make good use of Vandenbrook's skills and help her career. But this isn't something I can hope to change, and jealousy's an easy emotion to manipulate."

"Understood, sir. I'll get her transfer papers ready."

"I think it would also be helpful if you wrote her a good recommendation. Your opinion is highly valued-- it would go a long way, I think, towards mitigating any anger Vandenbrook might have towards you."

"And you, sir?"

Roy grins. "Worried about my reputation, Lieutenant?"

"I don't think it's fair that so many blame you for things you've never done."

"Just think of it as blame for the things I _have_ done," Roy says casually.

Riza stops. Roy turns around-- she's frowning, head turned to the side. Roy walks back to her.

"Lieutenant-- as long as we're getting closer to our goals, that's all that matters. I will use anything and everything to get us there."

She looks back up at him.

"This might be another hit to my reputation, but in the long run, we'll hopefully get a good officer out of it. It's worth it to me, in the balance. Vandenbrook will look out for her soldiers and pass along the example of how an officer should truly conduct themselves. It may not work out that way in reality, but we do what we can to tip the odds in our favor."

Riza inhales deeply, then exhales, steadying herself.

"Understood, sir. I will write the letter of recommendation tomorrow morning."

"Good."

"And Markel, sir?"

Roy sighs.

"You saw the comments written on his performance at the Academy training exercises."

Riza's expression is somewhere between grim and amused.

"I suspect we'll have another soldier claiming shell shock by the end of the week."

It's fun. Roy rarely gets to blow things up on a massive scale anymore; this is practice for him too. Though by this point, everything he does is technically "pinpoint technique," just on different scales. There's the standard bomb-like explosions, the ones he drives into the ground to kick up dirt and reduce their visibility, the ones that produce intense heat and dense black smoke like burning crude oil.

When Havoc takes out the first dummy, Roy even manages to reproduce the doppler effect as the flame's path follows a beautiful parabola, taking the dummy off the field. He practices one that he's been working on, where the sparks are arranged by magnetic field in a pattern, then explode simultaneously like a firework. Or a literal line of fire.

Vandenbrook and her squad take down two dummies, which is quite impressive-- all the more reason that he regrets having to transfer her out. Markel… spends all of his time frozen in the trench. He doesn't even give his squad any orders. One of his NCOs finally leads the charge and in a group effort, takes down a dummy. Roy's impressed. Markel led them to a position where they're pinned down (by Roy, but if the dummies were real, they'd still be pinned down). Unless there's an amateur sharpshooter in the squad, there's no way to take out any of the targets. The solution: Sgt. O'Fyle directed one platoon to the right of their position, O'Fyle went left, they opened fire and managed in the melee to score enough shots that the enemy combatant would have been mortally wounded.

Fuery has gotten _much_ better in these drills. He's been through them enough times he manages to focus on the objective and push past the fear of enemy fire. He takes down the last dummy. He also knows to bring earplugs-- the fact that he shares his extra pair with Havoc is… interesting.

As predicted, Markel leaves soon after the first exercise. Or rather, he leaves before the next scheduled exercise. A passive aggressive maneuver-- it's happened enough times before that Riza knows to anticipate it-- but unfortunately it happens to coincide with a terrorist attack. Roy receives the intelligence directly because he has no intelligence officer. ie Markel. In any case.

Then, during the mission, Havoc does three surprising things.

First, he calls Falman, who apparently has something close to an eidetic memory.

Second, he pushes Roy aside, takes his hand to prevent him from snapping, and kills the last gunman. It happens within seconds, reflexes trained into a soldier. Reflexes which don't explain Havoc's instinct to wrench Roy's fingers apart, and place _himself_ in the line of fire.

Third, he doesn't throw up.

Roy knows Riza will want to keep Havoc for Surprise No. 2 alone. Hughes will also approve. Hughes will also want to keep Havoc for Surprise No. 1-- an intelligence officer who's responsible for the larger picture and an intelligence officer who works with information on the ground are two very distinct skill sets. Havoc's proven he has the instincts of a field intelligence officer. Riza will put more weight on Surprise No. 3. Havoc killed a person and didn't throw up. Roy doesn't quite understand it (Roy's first murders were all mass murders), but it says something to Riza regarding the strength of his character.

Roy, however. Roy saw Havoc go straight to Breda's after his first kill. Roy will keep Havoc because of the company he keeps.

This is a dangerous edge he's skirting; Breda is under Himelstein, and Himelstein is close to breaking.

You would think that Lt. Colonel Himelstein, whose ideals and visions for Amestris are very similar to Roy's, would be an excellent ally to cultivate. However, a few things that got in the way and never allowed an alliance to develop.

First: She hates Roy. She hates Roy more than Olivier hates Roy. And she hates Roy for a good reason-- because he's lauded as a hero for his service to Amestris in exterminating the Ishvalan people.

Second: There is something about her hatred that goes beyond ideals. It's a personal hatred. Roy has probably killed someone she knew-- a fellow cadet, an old friend. Perhaps a family member was married to an Ishvalan-- they were killed too, if they didn't leave. Roy didn't really see people when he was out there. He saw blue uniforms with white coats, and not blue uniforms with no coats. Anyone not in a blue uniform with no coat got torched.

Third, and most important: She wasn't at Ishval.

Her military records confirmed this. She was stationed in the South, close enough to the border that she would have had to deal with Ishvalans who tried to find sanctuary in Aerugo. Roy doesn't know _exactly_ what happened to those Ishvalans, but he has a fair idea.

There's no indication that the final clause of Order No. 3066 was issued to outposts outside the warzone. Hughes' intelligence agents in the South have reported that they found copies of the order expelling Ishvalans from the military and notice that the Silver Alchemist was being moved to the Eastern Front, but nothing else. Similarly in the North and West, there were orders to send all Ishvalan military personnel to Central, various notices that alchemists were to be transferred to the war effort in Ishval, but no mention of extermination.

But, as they say, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. And Roy's heard plenty of whispered stories.

The commander of the southern outpost at the time was General Bricwell who had his own skewed code of honor. From what Roy's gathered, he thinks the general ordered most Ishvalan males-- regardless of age-- to be executed, but the women left unharmed. Hughes agrees with Roy's assessment. Even a superficial survey of the region shows a fairly large uptick in marriage certificates around that time and later, birth certificates. None of the names are Ishvalan, but there isn't any other plausible explanation as to why the Southern Province suddenly had a lot more women of marriageable age who went on to have a lot more children.

But this wouldn't have raised any suspicion in Central. Even if Central did conduct an investigation, the South is a good place to blend in for an Ishvalan refugee. Southerners tend to have darker skin and the Southeast region already had a fair number of intermarriages since the time Ishval had been annexed into Amestris. The combination of dark skin with light hair wasn't uncommon (though pure white hair was. But that could be solved easily with hair dye). Red eyes weren't uncommon also, though intermarriages usually gave the children eyes the color of red clay, not clear ruby red.

If Himelstein wasn't in Ishval but was in the South, she would have seen something very different from what Roy, Hughes, and Riza saw. Ishval was a nightmare, but it _was_ a war. Amestrians died in huge numbers, Ishvalans died in even bigger numbers; they were surrounded by death and ash and bloody sand. Himelstein, however, would probably have overseen the separation of families. She would have ordered her soldiers to shove boys as young as 7 to their knees, facing the hole they dug with tiny blistered hands, and shoot them in the back of the head.

Roy knows that Himelstein _volunteered_ to be assigned to the East. He's not exactly sure what she had hoped to achieve by coming closer to the carnage, but with the clean up effort ongoing, corpses lying about-- and no open warfare-- Roy thinks this landscape is probably what her nightmares are made of. And she's not handling it well.

If they are going to keep Havoc, Roy needs to evaluate Breda. Hughes' report isn't going to be enough.

Breda frequents Monsieur’s Brothel like clockwork (as does Grumman, with his terribly misled aspirations to style himself as a drag queen-- but that's neither here nor there). He's fringe, so that alone tells Roy a bit about him. Wendell says he's fine-- favors Archie but likes Matias also, courteous, pays up front, tips well, doesn't make a fuss, nothing extraordinary about his tastes. Clearly here to just blow some steam, rarely talks but sometimes jokes with Arch. A bit paranoid-- all their military customers are (Wendell rolls his eyes and looks fondly at Roy).

Do you want us to keep tabs on him? No. I'm trying to decide whether I should recruit him. I can get Archie for you, he's free now. Sure, why not. It can't hurt. You are _so much_ like Chris, darling, it's hilarious.

Roy! Hello, Archie. You look wonderful, as always. _You_ are such a naughty boy. You know I don't kiss and tell. I'm not going to ask about his favorite position, Archie-- Wouldn't _you_ like to know (Roy rolls his eyes) I need to make sure he's not going to turn me in. Honey. Sweetheart. Wendy's already told he's just another quiet repressed military man, hasn't he? (Roy smiles and shrugs) It was worth a try. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you more, sweetie. Thanks, Archie. Wendell, say hi to Viv for me. I will.

Actually, you know? He reminds me a little bit of you. Me? (Roy freezes putting on his coat.) I can see what Archie's saying. He's got that look-- mind always buzzing around. Mmhmm, Wendy's right. If he didn't tip so well, I'd feel insulted. Then how are we different? _You_ know when to turn your mind off. Well, I _am_ just a pretty face with some fire. I know-- I can never keep a straight face when they say that.

Roy darling, if you ever get tired of running around in a blue uniform, you can always have a second career here. I know you'd be _very_ popular. (Archie kisses Roy's cheek, laughing.) Oh my god, I can't even _begin_ to tell you how many soldiers talk about you-- shout your name while they're coming-- want me to role play and order them around with your sexy voice-- They're always asking for Viv to ream his ass. Thank you, Wendell, I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that. But, it's always nice to know I have a fall back option (Roy, boyish and bright)

It's just puppy love sweetie. Well, except some of the officers. Viv doesn't like hate-fucks, so they have to make do with Henry. It breaks their repressed little hearts. Anyone--? No one new, just the ones we gave you on the last list. Thank you, Wendell, Archie (they each hug him and tweak his ear) I have to get back-- I'm catching the last train out. It's always so nice to see you, sweetie, you should visit more often. I'll try, Arch. Stay out of trouble, Roy. Of course. Liar (Wendell swats his ass) Now get out of here.

Breda's mind always running. He already knew that. Roy doesn't attribute much to the fact that Breda's mind apparently keeps running during sex. Clara jokes she always "lies back and thinks of Amestris" when one of her regulars, a major general in Central, comes to visit. ("Roy, you know you're literally the _only_ person I would do this for. The man slobbered all over my lingerie and he's _clearly_ never been to a dentist." "Does he tip well?" "I pouted and fussed a lot last time-- he groveled with a Bellagian watch." "The sapphire or emerald?" "Emerald!-- I can't believe you even asked, Roy! It's like you don't know me at all! I'm a high class whore, not some cheap sapphire stripper.")

(Which reminds him, he really needs to get Viv a nice present-- other than telling him that he's doing a great service for Amestris, at which point Viv starts bashing his head with a pink silk pillow).

He'll need to put in a request for Breda soon-- Riza will be able to manufacture a good excuse. Katrin owes him-- though, knowing Katrin, he'll probably be relieved to get rid of Falman anyway. Falman will probably need to get a remedial course from Riza on how to hold a gun.

Get Breda out from Himelstein's command before Central hears about the cracks forming in her. He's not worried about Breda's ideologies. He's not even particularly worried about Breda turning him in-- Roy already has leverage, in the form of Himelstein.

The issue is that Breda is smart. Breda's a chess player. And chess players, at some point or another, always, _always_ trap themselves on the board. Hughes has managed to largely avoid it because he has Gracia, the life he's building outside Ishval. But Breda doesn't have a counterbalance; not one that Roy's seen so far.

He keeps turning this over in the back of his head while he practices pinpoint at the range when he's struck out of the blue with a memory. Breda, a child, with a hand clutching some well worn cards, a deck to the side, more cards laid out on the ground. The cards were something regional, he never saw them when he went back to Central. What was Roy doing that far out East? Maybe visiting Gennine? Or there was River's wedding. In any case, there were little pictures of imaginary animals on the cards-- something about a type? Like alchemy, a water type animal, a fire type, an earth type. Each one strong against one, weak against another, different animals had different attack and defense stars.

Roy remembers he liked the pictures of the strange but cute animals and their nonsensical descriptions-- and also remembers extremely vividly that he never really understood the game. He was trying to play a Charmagon which was a fire and fairy type but to use its attack power, he had to feed it six fairy energy cards on his next turn. Then Breda took _his_ Bulbavore, used a fusion card, and combined it with Chupachupa to create Chupabulb which attacked Roy's Charmagon and killed it before he even had a chance to feed it the fairy cards. Then Breda was grumpy when Roy didn't remember he couldn't power up Windasyl if he had a Treasure-Trap card and Defensor on the field because Windasyl was an air/plant type but the Treasure-Trap meant both players could only energize their shadow type attack animals or boulder type defense animals. But there was a new rule that came out with the Generation 7 animals that said if he had a Picamu, Reimu, or Thundermu in his deck, he could put them on the field and the Treasure-Trap would automatically give them 15 electric energy.

So-- not just a chess player. Also a player of convoluted children's card games based on made up animals.

Roy thinks he can work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently taking a break from playing Pokemon Go, can you tell?


	22. a fuzzy approximation of the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponds to events in Ch. 1 & 2 of Nonymos' _Groundwork Days_.

To say that it's unfair of Roy to ask Havoc how he's creating the explosions from the flame array is... an understatement. Roy never bothered to attempt an explanation of flame alchemy to Riza-- she didn't want to know. Hughes also had no interest; the only interesting part for him had been watching Roy struggle with flame alchemy at the Academy, swinging between phases of manic equation writing and manic array practice.

With the military, as a war alchemist, he's never had to explain how flame alchemy works. State alchemists who are part of the research arm are required to keep extensive records of their alchemical experiments, but war alchemists are only required to pass the exam and register their array. The designation "war alchemist" was actually created by Bradley; it had not been part of the State Alchemist program until the Fuhrer came to power.

The mission at Lisberth Plaza not only decided whether they were keeping Havoc but also necessitated coming up with a plausible explanation for how flame alchemy worked. Havoc needs to know Roy's range and abilities so he can take it into account. Riza already knows (most of) Roy's skill and range and can adjust her actions accordingly. Fuery's never in close proximity to Roy's firebombing since he oversees mission communications; if Fuery's in the field next to Roy while he's setting off fusion, something's gone very, very wrong.

The other officers who took a ride on the Mustang Merry-Go-Round would probably have benefited from knowing more about their Lt. Colonel's flame alchemy for better combat performance on missions, but they cycled through so quickly it wasn't worth the effort. Havoc is the first person who legitimately demonstrates need-to-know on the insane varieties of warheads Roy's arsenal, as well as Roy's weakness (rain, water, wet things, torn gloves, wet gloves, cold showers, scattered showers, he can make do in mild drizzle but it requires a lot of control, theoretically snow but why would Roy ever want to be anywhere _near_ Briggs, it's such a pain to set off fusion in blizzard even if he's done it for every joint military exercise while Olivier visibly fantasizes about running her sword through his handsome smiling face, etc).

Though… it's one thing to show what's in the toolbox. It's another thing to explain how the tools work. Roy doesn't doubt that Havoc would be satisfied with a demonstration and would simply accept it as "flame alchemy." The issue, however, is that just saying "abracadabra snap snap flame alchemy" does nothing to remove the mystique surrounding it. It keeps Roy a step removed from "normal human." Thus the "need" for a plausible explanation.

Havoc is also an ideal conduit to pass on the (mis)information on flame alchemy. Sharing the knowledge fosters trust and makes Roy seem less like a psychopath who can rain death on cities and more like a clever person who found a neat way to manipulate fire. It reduces his reputation as Hero of Ishval, Killer of Thousands, down closer to Friendly Commander, Your Neighborhood Matchstick. Roy had a few explanations prepared depending on how Havoc answered "what are the arrays for?"

He's mildly surprised and very much pleased when Havoc doesn't go with the obvious option of fuel, but oxidizer. That makes his explanation simple enough to be understandable, vague enough to seem complex, with the added advantage that oxygen is invisible so no one can truly verify the mechanics behind what Roy is actually doing (what are they going to do, get close enough to the site of the explosion to see if they get giddy breathing in 100% oxygen?).

All the explanations he'd prepared are based on something that closely resembles a fuzzy approximation of truth: the "I adjust the concentration of oxygen" explanation is true in the sense that he technically _does_ adjust the amount of gas in flame alchemy. It just so happens that the gas isn't composed of oxygen and the gas is actually plasma which, granted, is a different state of matter with completely different properties but really to the layperson it's not unreasonable to describe it as super hot gas that has free floating electrons (there's no reason to complicate it by pointing out that lightning is one of the naturally occurring plasmas on earth).

_And_ , to be completely fair (Roy can _hear_ Hughes laughing at his defensiveness), Roy only used flame alchemy once during his demo. Since the dummies were all dry straw, the first two could be dispatched with regular fire alchemy (the magnetic field provided a little guidance for the sparks, and maybe there was a small amount of fusion in the first explosion, but only on the scale of a couple trillion reactions which is negligible compared to Lisberth Plaza). The first two dummies and the blade of wheat _did_ require adjusting the oxygen concentration (or in the first case, _could_ require adjusting oxygen concentration but once he torched the thing the normal atmospheric mixture was sufficient to burn it to completion-- why is Roy providing all these explanations to justify his perfectly reasonable explanation again?).

The point is, what will become the infamous explanation for flame alchemy is not a lie-- it's just nothing remotely close to the whole truth.

As for rain-- most alchemists who witnessed his State Certification exam are no longer in the military, having left after Ishval. He doubts that his demonstration of creating a bomb out of a cup of water is particularly memorable anyway in light of everything else he's done. The myth that he's useless in rain because he _can't_ perform flame alchemy makes intuitive sense-- water always defeats fire, right?

It's a lot better than the real explanation: if Roy were to set off fusion in a downpour, the natural, completely unpreventable chain reaction would kill everyone (including himself) and take the entire region covered by the storm system. And that's only the zone of fusion, not the total area affected by the pressure and heat wave (and fire and radiation and ash falling from the sky and maybe he would set off a damn earthquake, who knows). This is very useful if he's ever seized by the urge to literally set the entire country on fire and avoid the responsibility of clean up (because as mentioned above, he'd be dead).

Again, the other version makes him seem more human: Lt. Colonel Roy Mustang, Hero of Ishval, Killer of Thousands, Friendly Commander, Neighborhood Matchstick, Useless In Rain is better than Flame Alchemist, Walking Extinction Event if he Happens to be in a Bad Mood on a Rainy Day.

Havoc seems to be some kind of catalyst in getting the team together and Roy wants to start off on the right foot--

"--right foot to go the right direction, right Roy?"

"Hughes, how is Gracia doing?"

"She's wonderful! You could say she's right as rain!"

"Lt. Hawkeye."

"Yes sir?"

"Does your sniper rifle cover the distance between East City and Central?"

"No, sir."

"And we all know that Lt. Hawkeye is always right!"

_"Hughes_."

"All right, all right. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Did I say something? I don't think I said anything," Roy sniffs.

"See what I have to put up with, Lieutenant? It's just not right. All these years of friendship and trust. He's got his pissy face on, am I right?"

"I believe you are correct, Lt. Colonel Hughes."

"I have an encyclopedia," Roy says in an attempt to save himself. "Do you need one?"

"Encyclopedia, huh? Easy to read?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Or fortunately, given your level of reading comprehension."

"It's not _my_ reading comprehension I'm worried about. Which edition? Hard cover or that tissue paper soft cover one you liked to rip pages out of?"

"Soft cover."

"Lt. Colonel Hughes, I've skimmed through the encyclopedia and can say this one's pages are sturdier than the ones from Lt. Colonel Mustang's Academy days. You won't be able to rip them out."

"Hmm. Lt. Hawkeye, can you break the spine?"

"There's no need to break the spine, Lt. Colonel Hughes. I could find all the entries I needed easily."

"Your office should keep it. I don't have room on my shelf for an encyclopedia. And this might actually help me cut down on hours I have to spend at the library doing research."

"True," Roy concedes.

"Still, let me know if there's anything interesting in your encyclopedia."

"Did you have something particular in mind, sir?"

"A directory."

\--

"Officer Falman," Riza says. "I understand that you have an excellent memory."

"Sir, yes, I'm often able to remember things very well after I've read them."

"That's very good to hear, Officer. I'm sure your skills will be an invaluable asset for our unit."

"Thank you, sir."

"The Lt. Colonel would like you to work with Sgt. Fuery. As you know, there's been an increase of attacks from the Eastern Liberation Front. I have here a map," Riza unfurls a _huge_ map that covers at least six desks, "and would like you to mark the date, location, individuals, and method of each terrorist attack since the end of the Civil War. The goal is to see if there are any patterns in the clusters."

"I would be happy to do that, sir."

"We have gathered the reports here," Riza mentions as Havoc dumps yet another box full of files on the floor. "These include interrogation transcripts. We'd like to know where they are obtaining their weapons; historic cell locations, and an updated organization chart. Please also track any changes to the organization's messages or manifestos, and denote any patterns you might see."

"Yes, sir. And Sgt. Fuery, sir?"

"After all your information is compiled, we'd like you to work with Sgt. Fuery to devise an optimal phone tapping operation so we can intercept their communications. With our limited resources, it's absolutely necessary to set up the phone taps at critical junctions of their information relays."

"Sir, permissions to ask a question, sir."

"Granted, Officer Falman."

"Should I also take into account anomalous activities that have not been credited to the group, but might utilize similar methods; or attacks on targets that may not have civilian casualties but may directly impact their supply chain?"

"That is an excellent suggestion, Officer, please incorporate those on your map and in your report as well."

"Understood, Lt. Hawkeye. Is there a date you would like this to be completed by?"

"This will be an ongoing project, Officer Falman. Sgt. Fuery is still in the middle of developing tapping devices that are not so conspicuous-- the models we currently have are quite obvious due to their bulk. Sgt. Fuery would also like to add an encryption component to the relays, but his main priority is re-engineering the devices.

"This project will also have to take place in conjunction with another assignment we've received from Central."

"Sir?"

"Central has sent us a roster of casualties whose bodies have not been recovered. Most of the corpses we've recovered have very little to identify them. The military's coroner's office will likely be able to track them according to dental records, but we will need to keep the rosters of missing soldiers up to date. Additionally, if any of these individuals have relatives of note, we've been ordered to prioritize the processing of their remains."

Riza hands him a very large stack of papers.

"Please go through the list and check the families of these soldiers, immediate and extended. Central has provided another list of individuals of note. I will have the coroner's office begin sending us reports in batches of twenty."

"Understood, sir."

"Officer, I would suggest that you look into the families of the list Central provided first, then see if any names match, rather than the other way around. I believe it would be a more efficient use of method to cross check the casualty lists."

"I agree, Lt. Hawkeye."

"I forgot to mention one more thing-- please denote the current office and posting of each individual on the list and regroup the individuals in the list according to their posting. It will help us send the communication to the officers directly and reduce misdirected information. As you can see on the list, there are four different officers by the name of Gor Tindel. Central was not particularly thorough in assembling their list."

"Indeed, Lt. Hawkeye. I can also see seven officers named Bollis Plogh."

"Thank you, Officer Falman. Please let me know if you have any questions or need any additional information. I believe you can find most of this information in the public military records, but if there are any sealed records, I will elevate it to Lt. Colonel Mustang."

"I will, sir."

And Central _did_ give them a list of "notable individuals." Not only did it include military officials and a few state alchemists, but prominent _non_ -military figures in Amestrian society as well. So Hughes, Roy, and Riza-- for the sake of fairness, of course, and to be over-inclusive out of an abundance of caution-- it wouldn't do to accidentally offend anyone who may have been left off the list due to clerical error-- saw fit to triple the number of names given to Officer Falman. For the sake of the grieving families waiting to bury their friends and family members who died in service to Amestris.

Because Roy has a reputation to maintain, after all. The Hero of Ishval is well known for always going above and beyond the call of duty. He might even arrange for a few florists in various parts of Amestris to send modest bouquets to convey the Hero's deepest sympathies (line item: casualty identification, freight, and burial). With a personal note to the families regarding the soldier's valor on the field (families who were, you should know, in no way, shape, or form vetted by Hughes).

He meant what he said. He'll use everything and everything to tip the odds in their favor. Including grief, when people are most vulnerable. There are worse things than a country built on bones and flowers.

Hero of Ishval, Killer of Thousands, Friendly Commander, Neighborhood Matchstick, Useless In Rain, Patron of Florists, Purveyor of Bones (Walking Extinction Event if he Happens to be in a Bad Mood on a Rainy Day).


	23. Breda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponds to events in Ch. 1 of Nonymos' _Groundwork Days_.

They're playing chess, and as predicted, Breda focuses on the game and Roy's abysmal chess skills, while Roy focuses on Breda. It's slightly disappointing to see, at the end of their games, Breda side-eyeing Roy like he can't decide whether Roy is a snake or a snail based solely on Roy's performance at chess and whatever rumors Breda has heard about Roy. But the fact remains that he _did_ accept the transfer request Riza sent to Himelstein. Whatever loyalty he might have felt towards his former commander seems to be superseded by his friendship with Havoc. Roy's certain there are other personal motivators he has yet to tease out.

Breda may be playing chess, but Roy is engaged in his own game and can't stop smiling (which only seems to make Breda's scowl deepen). Breda has a decent front, one that Roy hasn't seen often: passive masculine hostility. It's different from the "tough guy man of few words diet of black coffee, beef jerky, cold showers hardened soldier duty before love no homo and is Viv available tonight to soothe my aching soul" stereotype many soldiers seem to fall into (whether they've seen actual combat or not). Roy has, of course, seen and dealt with female variations of passive hostility very personally (he has to say, women far outstrip men in this particular field), but Breda is doing a decent job. The boredom he projects is interesting as it can be interpreted as defensiveness or superiority (or both, or just actual boredom).

This mixture of passive hostility and boredom-- without the aggressive hyper-masculine edge-- is both flexible and rigid. Roy wonders if Breda is aware of _all_ the different signals he's broadcasting-- not from his _personal_ intent and perspective, but from those he interacts with. On the one hand, it's flexible because there's a bit of room for others to project their biases and motivations onto Breda. On the other hand, there is a bit too much truth in Breda's act-- those sharp enough (and interested enough) will be able to dig under the front and close their jaws on Breda's insecurities.

Thankfully, most officers in the military are too self-absorbed and too focused on their rivals in positions they covet, in competition, or lower ranking officers with clear ambitions (ie too focused on Roy, who has enjoyed reactions to _his_ blatant careerist ambitions-- they often look like their favorite niece has insisted they eat-- _and enjoy_ \-- the rest of her sticky half melted snow-cone; after they're finished and weakly smile to say, yes, Fionna, it's the most delicious concoction they've tasted in the world, she _insists_ that the five-flavored syrup dregs are _the best part_ and they have to drink it _all_ ).

Breda doesn't project any kind of ambition and is of sufficiently low rank that he doesn't draw the notice of other officers. That kind of obscurity is excellent for an officer Roy hopes to use on for various miscellaneous intelligence gathering missions. Breda's already proven that he knows how to keep secrets; it would take a lot off Roy's plate for Breda to cover some of Roy's own extracurricular intel gathering responsibilities. But, the chess game...

Roy graduated summa cum laude from The Madame Christmas Institute of Pillow Talk & Pour More Whiskey, specializing in Strategic Sincerity and currently working on his thesis, tentatively titled, "Manipulating the Military: A Study on the Effectiveness of Male Officers Pretending to be Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong if She Hadn't Decapitated the Head and Laughed at the Bleeding Body of Society's Deeply Sexist and Stereotypical Expectations of Beautiful Blonde Women." Hughes, in addition to being naturally gifted, read all the classics, including _Intelligence for Idiots: Now with FIVE NEW Practice Tests to Prepare for the NBNMC (Nosy Bastards with No Moral Compass) Exam_ , and _You are Stupid but Everyone is Stupider - The Ten Secrets to Gaining Power While Remaining Incompetent_. There is, of course, the ancient book of aphorisms, _The Art of Intrigue_ by Zu Sonne. But Hughes found _How to Influence Friends and Like People_ much more useful.

All of this is to say that Hughes and Roy both rely on similar methods to convince people to part with their deeply guarded, triple vaulted, nearest and dearest secrets. Or State secrets; they're not picky. ("All words are leverage, but you must have the cunning to see it and the will to use it." Zu Sonne)

So he's ambivalent about the fact that Breda begins playing games with himself when Roy clearly doesn't pose a challenge. On the one hand, there's creativity, strategy, and a mind bent towards contingency plans. On the other hand, he's too focused on reading Roy through the chess board and too focused on projecting his own image that he doesn't look at anything else. He noticed at the beginning that Roy wasn't wearing his gloves; he didn't notice that around game 12, Roy took his gloves out of his pockets and placed them on his desk while Breda was resetting his side of the board.

Also, aside from Breda's first comment regarding the Scholar's Mate, he didn't make an attempt to engage in any small talk to draw information out of Roy. With Roy "concentrating"-- and presumably distracted-- on winning against his subordinate, this would have been the perfect time to send out some feelers to gather preliminary impressions. At the very least, Breda could ask questions to which he already knows the objective answer and measure them against Roy's responses. Instead, Breda's gaze flicks constantly between him and the board, that buzzing mind thinking however many steps ahead and trying to draw conclusions.

But it would have been simpler if Breda had tried to get Roy to _talk_. Roy's seen Breda do it unobtrusively and effectively to others, so he knows Breda has the skill. True, Breda beginning to ask questions would be seen as an invitation for Roy to do the same; it's possible he decided the risks outweighed any possible reward. There's always the danger of overexposing yourself when conducting an interrogation disguised as conversation, but that's why chess is the perfect pretense. You can pretend to be absorbed in your next move to give yourself time on how to respond, or respond at all. Conversations are easily derailed when your attention appears to be divided.

His question at the beginning on whether he should lose to Roy was an interesting opening gambit. Very much a male approach to be direct-- Roy personally would have just played the first game. Whether he won or lost wouldn't have mattered. His superior's subsequent reactions would have dictated what he needed to do afterward. It says something about Breda's initial evaluation of Roy, Breda's way of dealing with power dynamics and hierarchy, and his previous experience with officers. Also interesting that Breda chose to take Roy's words at face value.

And it was a partially successful gambit in that Breda _did_ get a reaction out of Roy, but not enough to confirm or contradict any of Breda's hypotheses. Roy can think of a few officers on whom he would have taken the same gambit to set the tone, break the ice, and draw out responses. The question can sound like a challenge or deference or hostility (or pick two, or all three if Roy's _really_ testing the waters) to rank depending on how it's said, who's saying it, who it's being said to. However, if faced with a different officer, Roy doesn't think Breda would have changed his delivery much (if he chose to ask it at all). Breda's inconspicuousness relies on maintaining a consistent character. Anything out of the ordinary draws attention. Roy, of course, draws so much attention that no one can separate the signal from the noise. 

These aren't factors that Roy would normally consider, but they are important if Breda's going to be an intelligence officer. It may be that Breda hasn't had enough experience and that he'll pick up these skills along the way, or any number of other reasons. One thing that's indisputable about Ishval-- it was a hell of an education. Now, without the suffocating pressure of committing genocide, there's more space to measure areas of strength and weakness in Breda's abilities. Not everyone can be an intelligence savant like Hughes. And it's definitely true that Breda's skills are far above the average intelligence officer with limited field experience.

Perhaps it can be chalked up to the fact that Roy is not… normal? If that's the right word? He grew up in the intelligence game and Hughes kind of pushed his way into Roy's life. The fact of the matter is, Roy has never done what amounts to a high stakes job interview on an Academy trained intelligence officer who actually has the requisite skills, actually knows how to use them, and most importantly-- actually knows _when_ to use them.

So it takes an embarrassingly long time for Roy to figure out that Breda doesn't really view Roy as the mission objective of an intelligence operation. He doesn't even approach it using tactics you might use to investigate a criminal. Instead, Breda is treating him like a _crime scene_. He takes witness interviews among other soldiers. He compares evidence. He observes. He draws a complicated map of possible timelines, relationship webs between suspects, and motives for killing. Breda collects pieces and puts them together to see if Roy is both the crime scene _and the crime_.

As far as investigative methodology, Breda uses the good old fashioned, if it aint broke don't fix it, textbook standard classic approach. He is so dedicated to treating Roy as the crime scene that he even applies the well known fact that you cannot interrogate the crime scene about the crime (because… it's a location… with inanimate objects…). You can only take notes, gather data, look for clues. Everything is defined by context-- by studying the context, you piece together what happened. Taken in this light, it makes more sense. The chess game is a piece of evidence, not an opportunity for interrogation.

Breda was suddenly, for reasons unknown, hand picked by the Hero of Ishval to be an intelligence officer in his squad; a squad that Breda has noticed certain details about-- that no one is quite the person they appear to be. Then he's suddenly invited (ordered) to play chess with his CO, who holds a lot of power over Breda and is a completely unknown quantity. An analogous situation for Roy would be something along the lines of being promoted to general tomorrow, transferred to Central the day after, and introduced as a new member of the Fuhrer's cadre of advisors as soon as he disembarks from the train. Then being cornered by the Fuhrer for a cup of tea and a game of gin rummy. Roy does not know how to play gin rummy.

This evokes a very strange image of the Fuhrer laughing in that obnoxiously loud and definitely sinister way of his, pointedly _not_ teaching Roy the rules of gin rummy, telling him he wouldn't have invited such a promising and intelligent soldier if he thought his new general couldn't learn the rules of a simple card game. Maybe Roy should… learn to play… or call Lulu so she can smack some sense into him if he's projecting his vanity onto a hypothetical scenario that contains both his ambitions and his nightmares-- _the point being_ , that kind of promotion, transfer, and seat at the Fuhrer's policy table would leave Roy with a million questions on the who/what/where/when/why/how.

_Gin rummy aside_ , Roy knows he still would have handled a private chat with the Fuhrer differently and approached his imaginary investigation from another angle. Because there is something interesting about planning a coup: since it's completely, totally, 100%, by-definition illegal, you take risks you'd never contemplate if you were operating within the confines of the law. This is obvious (Roy seems to be making a lot of obvious observations today), but putting it in the context of Breda's investigation of Roy, the reasons for their differences in approach become clearer. In this instance, Breda does _not_ want to break the law; he is, in fact, trying to determine whether he's 1) broken it, 2) will be punished for it, and 3) how he'll be punished.

This still doesn't change the fact that Breda is essentially chasing his own tail: he's investigating Roy to see if Roy is investigating _him_. He's winding himself up, eyes flicking between the board and Roy's smiling face (like Roy playing gin rummy with the Fuhrer… Lulu's off on Wednesday nights, right?), doubting the things he sees and discarding the things he knows. Paranoia is sometimes useful in that it forces caution out of fear, but since fear is the emotion driving it, it's exhausting, mentally and emotionally damaging, and despite hypervigilance, can leave huge blind spots. It's better to cultivate the habits resulting from paranoia, leaving out most (but not all) of the fear.

Which is still very difficult to do. 

Fuery has gotten much better at this; his time spent aiding and abetting treason have made him much more cautious. Roy's had him get some supplemental training (offered to anyone interested in advancing their rank through technical skills) on handling confidential communications, techniques of information encryption, advanced engineering. Or, as Hughes likes to say, an excuse to play with radios, an excuse to buy books to play with radios, and an excuse to requisition supplies to make possibly illegal modifications to play with radios. However, since Fuery's not involved with the strategic decision making, he doesn't need to operate at their level of clearance. Yet.

Havoc already has a sense of discretion with respect to military work; Roy thinks Havoc can easily expand the definition of "work" to include their extracurricular activities. Havoc's general policy seems to be that he has no secrets-- he has no secrets, so he has nothing to tell. And the way he talks about different aspects of his life reminds Roy a little bit of Hughes. Where Hughes' mental compartments are a three dimensional puzzle whose pieces all interlock with every other piece but are separated by impermeable barriers, Havoc's is more like a series of venn diagrams. The circle for family forms a typical venn diagram with the circle for girlfriends, the circle for girlfriends overlaps only superficially with the circle for work, etc. Family and work never touch: Roy has never heard Havoc talk about his family, though his file shows it's a large one (four boys and one girl, with twenty six cousins).

Falman… they will have to either work on, or limit the extent of his participation. Probably the latter. Riza is right-- there is no need to break the encylopedia's spine. Falman seems all too eager to find the answer for anything _anyone_ asks and recite the entire damn entry without prompting.

Breda, in addition to playing chess, also plays card games (unfortunately, these do not have any cute animals on them): close to the vest, etc.

(Roy, as a rule, doesn't play card games-- he gambles enough as it is. He also has the impulse to set the cards on fire immediately because Master Hawkeye used them to train Roy's fire alchemy, throwing them like hunters shooting clay pigeons. Roy also suspects that Master Hawkeye had a gambling problem; he has no idea why else his research obsessed teacher would have _so many_ packs of cards _hidden everywhere_ around the house. Maybe it was therapeutic to open one and… smell it? Gaze lovingly at the ace of spades? Hold the cards in a way that can only be described as gently petting them? All things Roy had _actually seen_ his teacher do.)

When Hughes warns them about Forveilles and Dietrich, Roy knows: this is their first test. Not of the team, because they aren't a team yet. A test on whether they can _be_ a team. Forveilles and Dietrich are coming for Himelstein; they'll pay Roy a visit out of courtesy since Breda is under his command. And then-- Roy will see if Breda remembers how to play that complicated children's card game with cute animals that had baffled and delighted Roy so long ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm starting to get the feeling I really dislike chess. Not the people who play it or even the game itself, but all the metaphors and tropes about it. I promise I'm not doing it on purpose. Apparently this irritation has been hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to introduce itself and hog the spotlight.


	24. numbers

There's a certain ruthlessness that comes after you commit genocide. Riza has a high kill count; Hughes brought Logue Lowe to the Fuhrer. They betrayed themselves and destroyed whatever illusions they had about being good people.

But it is different from genocide.

After you've killed thousands of people, human life is strange to count: Every life is precious but every kill is meaningless. The first time Roy found himself facing an enemy who needed to be neutralized, he didn't hesitate to reduce them to ash. It was a reflex. It was a reflex and when the soldiers around him stared in disbelief, he just looked them straight in the eye, telling them to round up the remaining combatants, with no mention of the blackened smear on the ground.

Could he have found a way to keep the person alive? Probably. But he was so used to killing that annihilation was the first weapon he reached for. Did he feel guilt for what he did to the enemy? No. At this point, adding one more body to his kill count didn't make a difference; he could kill a hundred more and it wouldn't make a difference. What is the difference between 43,000 and 43,100? Did he find comfort in the fact that this person was a terrorist, a wanted criminal? No. Roy probably had a hand in creating this terrorist group anyway-- they were a ragged bunch of self proclaimed vigilantes and mercenaries who'd targeted _him_ specifically.

Riza had confronted him afterwards and told him that from that point on, she would be making all the kill shots; he would only use flame alchemy to incapacitate. Because she saw the cold look in his eyes when he glanced at the half cringing, half enraged group of terrorists-- the one that said he didn't care whether they lived or died because their deaths made no difference: no difference to the dead, no victory for their cause, no person to bear witness, no weight to tip the scales of justice.

And Roy agreed. Because she was right-- he thought nothing of killing people. It's difficult to explain.

First: the human mind is not equipped to contemplate numbers of genocidal magnitude. And death is an odd numbers game. The death of one or two ordinary citizens is not shocking. The death of one or two politicians is. The death of four shopkeepers is fodder for gossip. The death of mother, father, and two young children is a tragedy. Ten people at the cinema? A sad event. Ten soldiers? Not newsworthy. Ten girls at university? Cause for alarm.

But once you start getting into larger numbers-- Roy estimates around 25-- it's as though human compassion splinters and somehow there is a material difference between holding 25 one-cenz coins and one 25-cenz coin. Around 25, the mind trades all its 1-cenz coppers for a 25-cenz nickel and the value of each death depreciates. So Roy may have the death of ten thousand, twenty thousand, fifty thousand Ishvalans on his hands, but the numbers make no difference. They're all very large numbers, it's generally understood killing that many people is bad, but unless a person is confronted with a tower built of 10,000 versus 20,000 corpses, the scale is very difficult to understand viscerally.

Second: Roy is unique among the state war alchemists because _he leaves no bodies behind_. Nobody, not even the military with its census takers, _truly_ knows the number of people he killed: his fire consumes all. Kimblee leaves bodies, bleeding and broken-- inescapable, horrifying evidence of the crimes Amestris committed against Ishval. With Roy? His soldiers didn't experience nearly as severe shell shock as other units working with state alchemists because _they saw no bodies_.

What's more, flame alchemy on a genocidal scale is necessarily performed at a distance. When all your human targets look like buildings and the only faces you see are the few heads of white hair behind machine guns, there is a literal divide between seeing what you did and seeing what you've done. In Ishval there were screams, but they were drowned out by the bombing, then quickly consumed by fire. There was no blood flowing through the streets. Corpses looked the same as a lump of charred wood. The only evidence was the unbearable heat, a terrible smell, and greasy ash that covered their faces. Roy created ghost towns and when there is no _evidence_ of annihilation, it's easy to believe there was no annihilation at all.

Third: Even if he did feel the guilt and grief and horror of every life he took, even if his flame alchemy left a hellscape bearing witness to the true nature of his atrocities-- what good does dwelling on it do now? He will never be punished: the state sanctioned his atrocities, promoted him and named him a hero. He could kill himself-- out of guilt, pangs of conscience, whatever. He could turn himself over to the vigilantes so he could be executed. He could lose himself in drugs and drink. But in the end, all those things are an escape.

Roy understands there is no atonement for him; he understands there is no such thing as justice for the dead. If there is such a thing as true punishment for what he's done, it's to live every day of his life with a clear mind and unobstructed knowledge that he will never know how many people he's killed, he will never comprehend what each life cost, and he will never understand the magnitude of his crime.

How do these three facts lead to Roy's indifference to killing? They don't. There's no logical or emotional line you can draw to show how these causes led to this effect. These are simply three indisputable facts in Roy's life-- facts which contribute to, but do not explain and in no way rationalizes the strange creature Roy has become after Ishval. He's human and inhuman when it comes to killing, and is never consistently one or the other.

So from that day forward, Riza made all the kill shots. They both trusted her conscience more than his. Roy toned down his alchemy to strictly incapacitate. He used guns more often. He worked on his pinpoint technique until he had exact control. It was unavoidable in their line of work that someone would get killed when he used flame alchemy, but he never incinerated them down to ash on the pavement again-- if he killed targets during missions, it was because there was a _reason_ they were killed: usually the consequence of sending an explosion meant to flush out insurgents or protecting the team. If there was a reason, Riza could hold him accountable.

Roy thinks it should have made him less indifferent to the lives he took, counting death in units of one instead of units of one hundred.

But genocide is different. If anything, counting deaths in units of one didn't make the number or the life behind it meaningful. It just made him a better killer. The unintended consequence of Riza making the kill shots is that Roy only kills when he _hunts_.

The unintended consequence is when unleashed, Roy only feels a deep sense of satisfaction to see his alchemy do _exactly_ what he intended it to do.

Sometimes Roy hears people say things happen for a reason, or each person comes into life with lessons they must learn for their soul to evolve. Or in a similar vein, that god knows each person's limits and only sends trials they know you can pass, though it may come with great suffering.

Roy doesn't believe any of these. It wasn't part of his upbringing. If Roy thinks there's a reason for anything, it's strictly in the material sense-- causes and their multiplicity of effects, but no divine design.

More than that, he doesn't believe there is a mystic _balance_ to the universe. He doesn't believe that there are any metaphysical forces ensuring a day when justice will be served. The only justice served to humans is one that humans make. There is no greater force that _cares_ about the lives of human beings-- and he is not saying this out of cynicism, like Hughes. In fact, it's not accurate to say that Roy "doesn't believe" because _belief_ implies he ever considered this to be a viable explanation of the world in the first place. 

Hughes grew up going to church every Sunday, ~~falling asleep~~ listening to sermons that repeated, every week, that there _is_ a god who tallies human sins and metes out justice. Hughes' atheism came directly from Ishval (though he was probably already 75% there by the time they graduated Academy). Hughes thinks of Roy as an atheist, but atheism is a counterweight to the human idea of the existence of god. Atheism is defined as an _absence_ , and as a concept, absence always implies _presence_.

For Roy, there's neither a presence nor an absence. Events are events, people can control some parts of their lives and can't control others. Asking _why_ \-- for what _purpose_ \-- there are hardships or fortune makes about as much sense as asking why rats are bigger than mice. Ishval happened. Roy is a killer. It's not possible to go backward; the only option is to stay still, or move forward. Take stock of the shifting landscape around you and do everything you can to tip the odds in your favor.

As far as Roy's concerned, this fact is the same as another fact he grew up with: that _court_ means _prison_ , _arrest_ means _bribe_ , and _police_ means _violence_. Riza and Hughes grew up in worlds where concepts like justice and injustice have meaning. They grew up within the protection of Amestris' laws and _actions_ , not _people_ , were defined as right or wrong. Roy didn't. What his sisters did or didn't do had no bearing in Amestrian law-- their very existence, while tolerated, was illegal. According to Amestris, crimes perpetrated against illegals aren't crimes-- it's the execution of natural justice.

So Roy never grew up with the expectation that life should be _fair_ \-- Chris, his sisters, _Ness_ made no effort to shield him from anything; it would have been like trying to shield him from the sun. The weight that most people give to the words _justice_ and _fairness_ , Roy gives to the word _protection_.

But this obviously begs the question-- if Roy thinks events are just events, no rhyme or reason, no good or bad, fair or unfair, punishment or reward-- how can he dream of a just world? How can he dream of a just world _after Ishval_? How can he-- after committing genocide and transforming into this inhuman-human alchemist soldier-- claim _he_ would be the one to take down the government and reform it to something fair and just?

The answer to the last question is: he doesn't. They haven't reformed the government-- they haven't even taken it down. A lot can happen in a few years. They may not even succeed-- in fact, it's likely they won't. But he joined the military to protect his family and he has to try.

And the answer to the second is: he doesn't. Roy doesn't dream of a just world. Hughes wants to dream of a just world. Riza, however she may despise alchemy, is an alchemist's daughter and invoked the law of equivalent exchange-- invoked the concept of a _universe in balance_ \-- and sees their cause in that light. The both assume that Roy also wants to right the wrongs of the past and _bring justice_ to Amestris.

They're not necessarily wrong, but they're not completely right either. A just government is the _consequence_ of Roy's dream, but it is not the _goal_. Roy told Hughes at the end of Ishval that he wants to _protect_ as many people as possible-- and that those he protects will in turn protect the people around them. That his dream was a world where _each person_ protects _every person_ around them and _each person_ protects _every subordinate_ beneath them. Hughes laughed at him and said that if Roy wanted to protect the entire nation, he'd have to climb to the top of the rat's nest. This is true. Hughes still missed the point.

Hughes simplified it to a pyramid scheme because Roy spoke of it from the top down. But the other half of the picture is looking from the bottom up-- where people can _rely on_ those above them, can _trust_ those in authority to treat them fairly; where people can _hold accountable_ the individuals responsible to fulfill their fundamental duty: to protect them. Just as protection flows down from the top of the pyramid, accountability flows up from the bottom.

Roy told Riza when she accepted her position: "I will protect you. In turn, you will protect as many others as possible. No matter how few, always look out for your subordinates. And those below you will in turn protect their subordinates. As an individual, I am powerless. That's why I need all of you to help me protect this nation."

As individuals, each person should be able to protect those around them. And every small circle of protection and accountability, like a tiny rat's nest-- when they come together to form a country, takes the shape of a democracy: the government provides protection and each citizen has the power to hold it accountable. Justice is a consequence because when democracy is the system of government, it mandates _equal protection under the law_.

Why does Roy dream of individuals protecting each other, holding each other accountable? Because the human mind cannot visualize large numbers. Like genocide, speaking of protecting ten thousand versus one hundred thousand versus one million is meaningless. The only thing these numbers do is provide a vague image of circles that get bigger. There is no such thing as protecting one million _individuals_. But protecting your small group of subordinates? That is possible. Protecting your next door neighbors? That is well within a person's abilities.

If Roy is naive, it is not because of scaling the logic up to encompass an entire nation. It's because he believes that people want to protect each other.


	25. Ishval Exercises 9 - 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from Ch. 17.

9\. How much plasma can be stored in ◎?

This question is essentially a question on the inner mechanics of transmutation circles, a field which, despite centuries of study, is still not well understood. Alchemists have always questioned why some circles are able to transmute materials that create objects far larger than the bounding circle, and why some require a very specific size. This topic belongs squarely in the realm of theoretical arrayists.

With respect to flame alchemy, the upper limits have never been tested. The answer also depends on whether the alchemist is _within_ ◎ or not. It is well known that the flame array's ◎ is not able to store _anything_ when written on paper or etched into the ground, written in chalk on a blackboard, etc. It is likely that the reason for this is the salamander, which we noted in Lesson 1 is the only truly esoteric symbol of the array. _Why_ the alchemist must be within ◎ is not entirely clear, particularly with respect to the storage of plasma.

Moreover, the plasma cannot be generated and stored by simply donning the gloves and activating the arrays. This phenomenon _only_ occurs when one half of the array is actively being used to discharge energy while the other half remains "unused."

\--[[[ This is not true. When Roy hunted Envy, he activated a mechanism that allowed him to continuously pull deuterium, convert to plasma, begin fusion, and store directly in the toroid whether the arrays were discharging energy or not. It's a very specific sequence on his gloves: he separates all his fingers on his right hand and curls them at each knuckle, while the left hand pulls the glove down. There is also the added benefit that it looks very dramatic, though it's not necessary to bring the glove up to his face (and is actually very ill advised). ]]]--

10\. Is the plasma ever depleted? If so, how?

This is a somewhat misleading question, since plasma is a state of matter where the atoms-- _any_ atoms-- are ionized. Thus, if the plasma is made up of nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, and a negligible amount of hydrogen (and therefore deuterium), the plasma will never be depleted as there is practically no chance of achieving the conditions necessary for the CNO cycle (a set of fusion reactions which produce and are produced by by carbon, nitrogen, oxygen).

It is more accurate to ask whether the deuterium and tritium atoms within the plasma are depleted: the obvious answer to this is yes. D and T are completely consumed during fusion and must be replenished. The reaction leaves behind products such as helium-3 and helium-4; it is theoretically possible for helium-3 and helium-4 to participate in fusion reactions, but these only take place at _extremely_ high temperatures. The actual result is that the energy produced during fusion keeps helium-3 and helium-4 ionized-- in other words, the _plasma_ is not depleted.

11\. What products are left after depletion?

As stated above, the products left after the depletion of D and T in the plasma depends on the elements composing the plasma itself. If the plasma is composed of hydrogen, deuterium, and tritium, then most of the products remaining will be hydrogen, helium-3, and helium-4.

It is natural to ask why hydrogen itself does not fuse, especially since the sun is primarily powered by the proton-proton chain reaction. The reason is that H + H reactions within the sun's core take approximately 9 billion years to successfully fuse. It's possible to create temperatures higher than the sun's core on earth-- the very fact that D-D fusion can take place at all is a testament to this: it takes 800 million kelvin to attain peak reactivity in the D-T cross section, while the sun's core is estimated to be 15.6 million kelvin. However, the other requirements for proton-proton fusion-- gravitational pressure at the sun's core (estimated to be 26.5e15 pascals) and time (9 billion years) are not possible to reproduce (pressure) or circumvent (time) in any way on earth. Any successful H + H fusion reactions that take place in the plasma are by pure chance.

As mentioned in Ishval Exercise 10, there is a very, _very_ slight possibility that He-3 and He-4 could, in their own series of fusion reactions, produce beryllium-7 and lithium-7. However, like the proton-proton chain reaction, the chances of these reactions taking place are extremely low.

12\. How long does it take for a given amount of plasma to be depleted?

The answer to this primarily depends on temperature. The higher the temperature, the greater the kinetic energy of the D atoms, greater probability that fusion will occur. The precise calculations are quite complex as they require alchemists to consider the cross sections of each reaction. In general terms, the lower the temperature, the fewer fusion reactions take place, the longer it takes for the D atoms in the plasma to be depleted.

This leads to the question of why an alchemist would want to regulate or change the temperature of the plasma at all. There are several reasons, one of which is technique. Certain skills in flame alchemy require the plasma to be in a specific temperature range. Another may be that the alchemist is in a hydrogen-poor environment and needs to conserve plasma. The primary reason, however, is that changing the temperature, and therefore changing the rate of reaction, is one of the more reliable ways to control the magnitude and method of discharged fusion.

It might seem more intuitive that manipulating the _number_ of atoms is a better method of control. While changing the quantity of atoms used in a reaction is essential, the flame alchemist must always keep in mind that they are dealing with _atoms_. The very center of flame alchemy is fusion, or, the fact that fusing two of the smallest atoms in the known universe releases a staggering amount of energy. Most alchemists-- most alchemy in general-- deal with quantities of materials that are visible to the naked eye.

Counting the number of _atoms_ , however, is always a matter of estimation. No alchemist is able to count or deal with exactly ten atoms. Thus, an alchemist may _mean_ to set off an explosion of a given magnitude, but there will always be a large degree of uncertainty. By using a reaction's cross sections to optimize the rate of reaction, an alchemist is able to better gauge the amount of energy that will be produced given an _x_ number of atoms +/- some % of uncertainty.

\--[[[ Roy never limited himself to one method of control, which is how he was able to invent so many different techniques. He used every element in the array-- quantity, temperature, magnetic field, method of discharge-- even the movement of his hands factored into each technique. ]]]--

13\. Describe the ways stored fusion can be discharged.

The product of fusion is energy and any remaining atoms not consumed in the reaction. Stored fusion is simply another word for energy and the forms it can take.

\--[[[ Roy never bothered to name every technique in his arsenal. Pinpoint technique seemed to be a good description, never mind that each "pinpoint technique" might require an entirely different set of skills. It would be fair to say that Roy, as a master flame alchemist, _only_ used pinpoint technique. The explosions he created might look enormous and uncontrolled, but they landed exactly where he wanted them to land, discharged the amount and type of energy he wanted them to discharge, and timed them down to the second.

For example, he could "pinpoint" his lightning strikes to create thunder at the decibel to knock out a person's hearing but not leave them permanently deaf. Or send an "explosion" through a window to kick up a lot of dust and smoke, but didn't kill anyone or bring down the building. Or time his "flame" to give an average soldier enough seconds to run out of the range of fire.

Like all weapons of mass destruction, it's easier to let go of control and let the fusion go where it wants. If he were still the green soldier before Ishval, that's all he would have been able to do. But it goes without saying that he _isn't_ a green soldier, and he _has_ control. When you're a war alchemist whose hands have burned with genocide and whose hands are now able to control every aspect of the flame, there is no excuse to exercise lethal force when it's enough to incapacitate. You have no excuse to let go.

On nights when Roy woke up with the taste of greasy ash in his mouth, he sometimes closed his eyes and saw the spires and white walls of Central headquarters. He breathed in and heard the rapid fire snap of his fingers, carpetbombing it down to rubble, collateral damage be damned. Half the officers in the building were responsible in one way, shape or form in the destruction of Ishval anyway-- you might even say that he'd be doing Amestris a favor by incinerating the garbage. Then he'd exhale, open his eyes and look in the mirror. Because what would it solve?

He's seen it play out before on a smaller scale: there were no gangs roaming the streets in the Fringe District, but that didn't mean there wasn't organized crime. Taking out the head and all the deputies of a syndicate only left a power vacuum that allowed the others to expand their territories and led to extended turf wars that in the end, changed nothing-- just established a new head for the same system.

The early days of stabilizing the east were like this too. The seven years of civil war left behind vast swathes of territory ruled by different factions-- some of which paid off the military, some of which _were_ the military. Rooting them out and reestablishing martial "law and order" and "rule of law"-- protecting railroads, roads, entire towns from falling into the hands of aspiring feudal lords-- _that_ was a large part of Roy's job, thanks to Grumman. It gave Roy a lot of experience in governance and it also made Grumman sit up and _really_ take notice.

Then again, if Grumman had bothered to do his job in the first place, the region wouldn't be such an unmitigated, corrupt disaster, but one man's trash was another man's treasure, etc. One of the things Roy learned over chess was that Grumman _knew_ how to govern, and knew how to govern _well_. He just didn't care.

Either way, Roy had up-close-and-personal experience that raining fire on the Fuhrer's house might be satisfying for the two hours he watched it burn, but would solve nothing. At best, it would leave the remaining officers jockeying for position internally. At worst, it would consume the entire country in civil war, each general with their own army, making and breaking alliances to and leaving all of Amestris open to invasion by Drachma, Creta, and Aerugo.

Roy might be planning on overthrowing the government, but it had to be done without destabilizing the entire country. This meant not dropping warheads on Central's headquarters.

After Hughes--

After Hughes, it would have Roy declaring himself Fuhrer, the new headquarters surrounded by stakes with manacles. He'd chain Hughes' murderers to the posts and snap his fingers to set off fusion in their entrails, burning them from the inside in neverending, unquenchable fire. Then, when they were nearly unconscious, shit running down their legs, no more tears for agony, gurgling through the blood and kidney and liver bubbling from their lips and choking their screams for death for life for mercy, he'd be merciful-- and give them a cup of water, speeding up the reaction, making them scream until they exploded. People walking past would watch the hypnotic swing of their torsos, back and forth like a pendulum hanging from their arms; their lower body pulp on the grass, pink as rotten watermelons.

(This is Ness' imprint on him-- this is the other reason for control.)

]]]--

14\. How are the direction, magnitude, intensity, velocity, and effect controlled?

With respect to fusion, direction and velocity are largely controlled by the magnetic field. Intensity and magnitude can be controlled by a variety of factors such as temperature, amount of deuterium and tritium, and method used to set off fusion. Effect is simply the cumulative result of these four factors.

15\. What are the risks associated with using magnetic confinement fusion?

\--[[[ There are always trade-offs in alchemy. The great power of Flame Alchemy is offset by two factors: the alchemist must be stationary and the alchemist must have absolute control.

The alchemist must be stationary. All of Roy's explosions are followed by shock waves that can and do knock people out. Roy has a skill that only seasoned veterans at Briggs have cultivated-- the ability to stand perfectly upright in a howling snowstorm. If you made him stand on the ocean shore in choppy weather, wave after wave crashing nonstop, Roy would be able to stand upright without any wobbles, never falling. Flame alchemy would not be very impressive if he fell on his ass every time he snapped his fingers. However, this means that in most cases, he cannot run while using it.

Another reason he cannot run: many mechanisms that guide his "sparks" rely on magnetic fields. Theoretically, he could do it. It simply takes an enormous amount of calculation to keep the field constant while _he_ makes erratic movements, to the point where it's simply not realistic. He has a few skills in his arsenal that allow for flame alchemy combined with movement, but those are short range, less powerful, and comes at high risk to himself and anyone around him.

It might seem like Roy is throwing something at targets but when you sit down to think about it, the concept of throwing a 15 nanometer ball of fusing deuterium at a target 400 meters away is ludicrous. Roy's trade as an alchemist is entirely based on things invisible to human eyes: magnetic fields, plasma currents, molecular bonds, individual atoms. The fact of the matter is that he can never be 100% certain that he's landed a hit until his target explodes. Roy's success or failure in wielding flame alchemy is based almost entirely on the accuracy of his calculations.

In some ways it's analogous to the reason why snipers have to stay still. Riza, when she's making a truly difficult kill using a rifle and scope with a range of 1,700 meters, has trained herself to take shots between heartbeats. There are so many factors she has to consider outside her own native skill: elevation, wind direction, windspeed, projected position of the target by the time she pulls the trigger. She gets one shot-- literally-- because afterwards all hell breaks loose.

Which naturally brings up the second point: the alchemist must have absolute control, for all of the reasons stated above-- flame alchemy deals with incredibly large releases of energy from things humans _cannot see_. At any given moment, Roy is controlling several magnetic fields, manipulating matter to convert to fuel, calculating how much energy is needed for the desired result, how to best achieve that energy discharge-- all while taking his surroundings (buildings, civilians, subordinates) into account.

Flame alchemy, like fire alchemy, requires constant practice to maintain the same level of control: it's one of those skills where you either use it or lose it. After the war, Roy obviously couldn't go around using buildings as target practice-- the most extreme methods of pinpoint technique, the ones that are _insanely_ fine tuned and freakishly accurate were born organically out of his need to practice flame alchemy quietly and discreetly. He practiced every night, after the shooting range was closed. (And depending on how late he'd stayed up to master some obscure new trick, would fall asleep at his desk the next day.)

There's the straightforward paper targets snipers use: a head shot, a chest shot at varying distances using different techniques. There's the technique where he launches the spark and accelerates it through the magnetic field. There's the lightning technique, which he scaled down to the point where he could create a path of plasma only a few atoms wide (and therefore not waking soldiers up with sounds of thunder). There's the technique where hydrogen is concentrated within the target and he uses two powerful laser strikes (which are just photons with specific properties) to set off fusion. &tc.

Master Hawkeye told Roy that when alchemists cease to think, they die.

 _War_ alchemists, however, die when they cease to be weapons. ]]]--


	26. General Olivier Mira Armstrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: very brief mention of suicide.

In the first few years of Roy's acquaintance (though acquaintance might be too strong a word-- more like acknowledgment of existence) with Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong, Roy had no idea what he did to warrant the General's cold disdain, which seemed to border on spite. They first met during the annual joint military exercise-- where his and a few other officers' contingent of Eastern forces valiantly tried not to shiver under her icy Northern stare. When Roy went to introduce himself, she looked at him for a second through the corner of her eye before moving on. Roy wasn't sure what to make of it, but overall decided it wasn't personal; the General treated all the Eastern officers similarly, no matter their rank.

The first military exercise Roy participated in was a year after Ishval, during which the then-Brigadier General Armstrong obliterated the Eastern forces. It took Roy completely by surprise because if you thought about it, temperature difference aside, battlefield conditions between a desert and an ice capped mountain range are fairly similar. Instead of blinding sandstorms, you have blinding snowstorms. Transport is incredibly difficult, replenishing supplies for units always depends on the capricious will of the weather. It's easy to get lost in the barren landscape (Roy can attest to this from personal experience). Water is, ironically, in short supply; anything in containers freezes, melting it requires fire, fire requires fuel which is also in short supply. Eating ice is not advised; you have to expend precious body heat that lowers your core temperature.

There were several reasons for the Eastern forces' failure. Probably first and foremost was the infighting between the Eastern generals and colonels leading the troops. Some were grizzled veterans of Ishval who'd fought one enemy for so many years, they remained stuck in their ways because why change something that got you through the war? Some were dough faced officers from Central who saw a move to the East as the perfect opportunity to quickly climb the ranks-- they were never interested in rehabilitating the East, only in getting back to Central. Many of these officers found their ambitions cut short thanks to war honed terrorists.

This "command by committee" ultimately led to each officer going off and doing what they thought was best. Even Roy, with his middling skills as a wartime commander, would have been able to defeat them; the Eastern troops provided no semblance of a united front. General Armstrong, however, had Briggs firmly in her grasp.

Roy managed to hold his own, sort of. He was only able to hold his own because Riza _was_ a wartime officer, for all that she insisted she was just a sniper. Truthfully, Roy's unit lasted as long as it did because Roy was able to provide extremely effective covering fire while Riza commanded the unit and led a number of missions that captured outposts, one by one. Roy interrogated; he and Riza planned; Roy provided covering fire, Riza led the troops. Their crowning achievement that first year was capturing a communications station. It didn't take long for the Briggs soldiers to figure out that the station was compromised, but it provided enough information for them to anticipate Briggs' countermaneuver. They were ultimately defeated there, but they put up a decent fight, especially since Briggs didn't know how to deal with Roy's literal firepower.

Roy is 80% certain that his interrogation tactics and extensive use of alchemy were the reason why he went up in General Armstrong's estimation: her personal policy was to use anything and everything she had to her advantage. At the same time, Roy got the sense that while she was _professionally_ impressed, she was _personally_ disgusted. Whether that had anything to do with her brother or some kind of distaste for alchemy in general, he didn't know; some of the Eastern officers grumbled that Roy's unit only lasted as long as they did because he was a state alchemist, so his team's accomplishments didn't count because of the unfair advantage.

She also tried to steal Riza, but that's neither here nor there.

The following years (Roy had no idea why the exercises always took place in the North), Briggs continued to win by ridiculous margins. Obviously there was home field advantage, but defending Briggs necessarily required more traditional battlefield tactics. Roy's team had transitioned their drills from wartime exercises to counterterrorism training; it was a completely different skill set and a completely different way of thinking. Roy was _very good_ at counterterrorism. Roy's skills as a wartime officer remained middling-- they probably got worse because he hadn't used those tactics or that mindset day in day out. It probably didn't help that he skipped the drills Riza conducted every week to keep the soldiers on their toes.

General Armstrong, of course, only got better at defending Briggs and implemented new, drastically improved tactics in patrols. Roy's use of flame alchemy was a _disadvantage_ because it was generally difficult to miss a giant plume of flame and loud explosions; it gave away their position and since General Armstrong considered Riza to be one of the biggest threats, brought down a huge contingent of Briggs soldiers to "neutralize" them. Roy was able to buy enough time for Riza to retreat by leading the Briggs troops on a merry chase before they caught him.

This time, Riza had Fuery. They didn't need to capture a comms station to spy on Briggs' movements. Riza was able to continue fighting for the honor of Eastern command but without Roy to interrogate freshly captured troops, her unit was hamstringed by only knowing what was communicated through radio, not the overall strategy and sequence of troop movements. Additionally, the Briggs troops used a non-standard code to encrypt their transmissions that Fuery only managed to break right before the unit was captured.

Once they rounded out the team-- Riza, Fuery, Breda, Havoc, Falman-- it was clear Roy was basically superfluous. Aside from now being part of the committee that planned the campaign, soothing ruffled feathers so Eastern Command could come up with some kind of coherent strategy, Roy's contributions were limited. Riza and Havoc were a killer pair of commanding officers; Fuery could tap any communications system; Falman and Fuery could break every single Briggs code, no matter how complex; Falman was able to navigate the ever shifting snowy landscape because of his sense of absolute distance and direction; Breda interrogated anyone they captured and combined it with radio communications to provide real time intelligence reports. The only _real_ contribution Roy had was to use his hard won flame alchemy to provide hot food and warm water. And they never needed worry about running out of grenades or other explosives.

Then again, hot chow and hot coffee kept morale up, where other units quickly capitulated to the depressing cold. It reduced the risk of frostbite, and it was a great comfort for the unit to sit around a blazing fire that never went out while a blizzard screamed around them for three days and four nights. At first it irked him that he amounted to what was essentially a human stove, but as the exercise dragged on, he felt relieved. It was nice to take a back seat and allow others to handle everything. It was the closest he got to taking a vacation.

Roy thinks this is why he began falling in General Armstrong's estimation. It looked like (and it was true) that he was coasting on the success of his subordinates, becoming the type of officer she despised-- one who sat on the sidelines while sending the soldiers under their command to die. By that point, Roy honestly didn't care. It might ultimately work to his advantage to have her underestimate him rather than drawing attention to himself. General Armstrong had good instincts-- extremely good instincts when it came to judging people. Without knowing which side she might support in a coup, Roy didn't want to risk her looking into his actions and motivations too deeply.

Riza's assessment, and Havoc and Breda agreed, was that she didn't seem to care much about Central. Her loyalty was to her soldiers and defending Amestris from Drachma. But it was more complicated than that: her family was very wealthy, part of Amestris' social elite, powerful and prominent in Amestrian politics; add Alex Armstrong and his actions in Ishval to the mix and you came away with a tangled picture of her ambitions.

Honestly, Roy's instincts were that if she _did_ want to become Fuhrer, _she_ would lead a coup herself rather than play political games in Central. She was perfectly positioned to do so: she had an entire army of ruthless soldiers completely loyal to her _and her only_. General Armstrong ruled Briggs with an iron fist and the soldiers were glad-- _proud_ \-- to be under her rule. No one challenged her orders, no one would betray her or their fellow soldiers. Briggs was off limits even in Central; no officer tried to advance their career through promotions in a Northern outpost because General Armstrong was well known for _demoting_ officers who tried. Northern Command did nothing without getting her approval first. Even the Fuhrer kept his distance in the sense that he made only three trips a year; all of them lasted less than a day and all of them were for the sake of appearances to "inspect the troops."

Briggs even had their own R&D division which served the dual purpose of maintaining the fort and developing weapons. Havoc and Breda both said they learned through various sources that General Armstrong found the performance of "fair-weather firearms" unacceptably poor and directed the engineers to devote all their spare time towards devising improvements tailored to Briggs' extreme cold. There were even talks of modifying the army's standard long range artillery to something more maneuverable for the wall and designing tanks that could travel through blizzards.

So: General Armstrong had practically everything she needed in place-- social, economic, and political connections; a powerful, ruthless, _and loyal_ military force; a stockpile of weapons; possibly even a state alchemist in the form of her brother Alex (though if rumors were to be believed, she considered him a coward and had essentially disowned him). All of this really begged the question of _why_ she hadn't already sought to usurp the Fuhrer.

It wasn't because General Armstrong wasn't ambitious. She essentially ruled the North and had established that rule the old fashioned way: eliminating all her enemies/potential competition through cutthroat politics. Roy didn't think it was because she was satisfied with her throne either. He'd seen the way she'd eyed the Eastern troops and the gleam of hunger in her eyes to bring the battalions to heel-- not only because she knew she'd do a better job than "that senile fool Grumman" but because she truly desired power. She was a patriot in an aristocratic sense, which is to say that she and the other old Amestrian houses considered the country-- the land, not the people-- to be theirs by right of bloodline. The Armstrong household had at least one or two Fuhrers somewhere in their history, "elected" into the office by Parliament (back when Parliament meant slightly more than it did now under Bradley).

It was that sense of total security and familial entitlement that kept her from moving outright against Bradley. General Armstrong radiated authority; she exuded natural confidence that when the Fuhrer retired and the other senior generals in Central were squabbling amongst themselves for the position, she would simply sweep in from the North and take the throne with the power of Briggs behind her. Bradley was older than he appeared; there were some rumors circulating that he would step down in a few years. General Armstrong was quietly preparing herself for that moment. She carried herself as though it was a foregone conclusion that she would be the next Fuhrer.

She probably even had her first campaign planned out: invade Drachma to expand Amestrian territory (another time honored tradition of every Fuhrer-- to start their term with a war).

The only weaknesses Roy could discern were: 1. Drachma; 2. Lack of a robust intelligence network; 3. Lack of support from state alchemists.

Lack of a robust intelligence network: The position of General Armstrong's family in Amestris was large enough and prominent enough that their social connections, business partners, and political allies were enough of a network for her ambitions. General Armstrong wasn't looking to take down the government, which meant her intelligence network didn't _need_ to be as active and comprehensive as Roy's. She had enough training from her family to build standard traps and execute a decent counterintelligence operation-- and it seemed that _was_ the focus of most of her agents. Intelligence officers at Briggs focused on rooting out any Drachman spies that might have slipped in and preventing General Armstrong's Amestrian enemies from gathering substantive information on her movements.

Lack of support from state alchemists: The lack of support wasn't active hostility from the state alchemists-- it was just a consequence of the fact that General Armstrong had never wooed them. There was still time to do so, but Roy got the impression that she wouldn't. State research alchemists were generally happy so long as they could carry out their experiments and had ample funding; state war alchemists were notoriously fickle in their loyalties.

Basque Grand was famous for double crossing generals and toying with officers in political games. He didn't have any political ambitions of his own but took petty pleasure in destroying the careers of non-alchemist officers, particularly if they had slighted him in some way. The Iron Blood Alchemist had a flair for blackmail. He also had a gambling problem. The blackmail allowed him to keep his extravagant home complete with chauffeur, butler, cook, and housekeeper; allowed him to continue his side hobby of breeding pitbulls for his dog fighting enterprise; allowed him to buy ridiculously expensive bottles of cognac and hire a few prostitutes for his bimonthly orgies. His income as a state alchemist all went towards gambling.

And, Roy knew for a fact, he owed every gambling house in Central so much money that the casino owners had a deal amongst themselves to each take one day of the week as their "Iron Blood Day," so that no one casino had to bear the loss of money alone. It made good business sense: if one casino went bankrupt, it would leave the others more vulnerable to Basque Grand's excesses. None of them dared to deny him access to the premises, nor did they demand collection of his debts because the last casino owner who tried found himself skewered through the neck and his entire family imprisoned (except the daughter, who Grand took for himself-- she commit suicide two weeks after her father was killed).

The Silver Alchemist wasn't much better. He had no loyalties; as far as anyone could tell, the only thing he loved more than war was carving and painting creepy marionettes and arranging them in dollhouses. Officers generally stayed far away from him because he was unstable, capricious, and was notorious for leaving gifts/threats (no one could tell which) in the form of marionettes built to scale, modeled after the officer's children/spouse/self. What was worse was that he became _extremely offended_ if his gift didn't hold a place of prominence in the office. More than one officer had requested a transfer after having the Silver Alchemist's _generous_ gift bestowed upon them.

This is not to say that all state war alchemists were _complete_ psychopaths. But there is admittedly what some might call a _unique_ outlook when a person is a human shaped state sanctioned weapon of mass destruction. Roy is not the only careerist state war alchemist (see: the Iron Blood Alchemist, the White Tiger Alchemist, the Shadow Alchemist, the Titan Armor Alchemist). However, he cannot deny that their… talent can lend to certain quirks in personality. The Shadow Alchemist, for example, punished officers who didn't salute to her when she passed through the halls by giving them painful erections that lasted at least 72 hours, venereal disease optional. The Titan Armor Alchemist was widely known for humiliating generals by pointing out every single flaw in their plans and offering condescending (but solid) advice _in rhyming couplets_ (out of all the alchemists, Roy would say that the Titan Armor Alchemist was the smartest-- she was the only war alchemist who is also a certified research alchemist. However, smart is not necessarily politically astute).

General Armstrong didn't have support of the state war alchemists, but she didn't have any enemies among them either. So long as she didn't overturn each alchemist's comfortable ecosystem of power, Roy didn't think she would encounter much resistance if she staged a coup.

Drachma: If Drachma happened to attack while the new Fuhrer was being "elected," General Armstrong would have to stay to defend the Northern Wall rather than stage her coup. It was possible Briggs might be able to quash any Drachman attack quickly enough for her to take power before everything was settled, but history showed that Drachma pretty reliably attacked when a new Fuhrer was being chosen and that these attacks were not just skirmishes.

General Armstrong's troops were fanatically loyal to her, but she was also fanatically loyal to them. If Drachma attacked, there was no doubt in Roy's mind that she would stay behind rather than abandon them to pursue her political ambitions. She didn't trust any other general to effectively defend the wall and her soldiers didn't trust any other general, period. Roy could imagine a scenario where she might leave command to one of her subordinates, but only if she was absolutely certain the Drachman forces could be defeated without her there.

Depending on who became Fuhrer, General Armstrong might still stage a coup if she believed the individual was undeserving of the office. However, if the Drachman conflict lasted longer than a month and inflicted significant casualties, she might be left in a position where her weakened forces wouldn't be able to take Central. There wasn't a very large window of time to stage the type of coup General Armstrong was presumably preparing for. If the new Fuhrer managed to solidify their position quickly, General Armstrong would find herself opposed by a large portion of society and would likely face a sizeable military force, including the state war alchemists, to defend the new Fuhrer. It still wasn't _impossible_ for her to succeed in those conditions, but it greatly reduced her likelihood of success.

Roy, Hughes, and Riza had all discussed the best time to stage a coup: logically, it would be easiest to take power after the Fuhrer retired. The issue was, the rumors that the Fuhrer would retire were just rumors. There was absolutely no indication that Bradley was going to give up his position anytime soon. If anything, it seemed his strangehold on Amestris became stronger with each passing year. The three of them all agreed that Bradley was likely going to stay Fuhrer until the day he died. Hughes would never forget the way the Fuhrer went on about god before ordering him to _continue the extermination_ ; they couldn't-- they _wouldn't_ \-- risk another Ishval happening while they sat around waiting for the Fuhrer to die.

This left the question: if they succeeded in overthrowing Bradley's government, would General Armstrong move against them? Roy was not above playing Drachma to keep Briggs occupied while he, Hughes, and Riza consolidated their power and cleaned house. It was an act of treason, but then, so was a coup. It was also a dangerous gamble in that Roy would have to play Drachma enough to convince them to launch a healthy attack, but not _so_ much that the healthy attack would successfully invade Amestris.

In any case, there was still time to try to make an alliance with General Armstrong-- she at least respected Riza and Havoc. It went without saying that Roy would use them both to their fullest potential to convince her to join their side, or, at the very least, not attack while they organized a new government. If worst came to worst, Roy was willing to negotiate a power deal; General Armstrong was not a war-mongerer and Roy could work with that. It would be in the best interests of her family to have Parliament restored. She would probably look derisively on their plans for Amestris to become a true democracy-- she was, after all, an aristocrat with a certain mindset-- but they would cross that extremely distant hypothetical bridge if they ever got there.

In the meantime, Roy just let himself have a bit of fun on his vacation by drinking hot cocoa while poking the Ice Queen Bear. And Roy would _never, ever_ confess to this to _anyone_ and would take this secret to his grave, but sometimes poking the bear made him feel like a kid again, making Namari throw her hands up in frustration and throw him out of the house for being constantly underfoot. Roy doubted that he and General Armstrong would ever truly get along. He respected her and genuinely disliked her because he saw a few too many times when her expression of professional displeasure turned to aristocratic disdain. He was sure she wasn't even conscious of making that expression. But unintentional or not, it meant he would never be honest with her-- in turn her superb instincts always knew when he was being disingenuous with a smiling face.

Sometimes poking the bear provoked rude honesty. Roy grew to enjoy the joint exercises at Briggs because he got to fleece the Briggs soldiers of all their money simply by sitting in the mess hall with a steaming cup of _real, fresh, aromatic_ coffee, selling small bags of unground beans under the table (literally) at an exorbitant price like some kind of drug dealer. At the end of the trip, he used the money to buy several bottles of ice whiskey: four for Chris, one for Hughes, and two for miscellaneous bribes.

The rest of the money he used to buy the team an extravagant Northern dinner consisting of things Roy was delightedly disgusted by: soup that the restaurant proudly announced was 70% boiled reindeer fat and 30% boiled reindeer hooves; pathetically tiny and shriveled purple carrots that looked and tasted like amputated frostbitten toes; and a "green salad" that was "green" in the sense that it had bright green pineroot larvae and "salad" in the sense that it was artistically presented on a bed of fresh pine needles.

He always managed to get Riza to have General Armstrong, Miles, and Buccaneer to join them. The dinner somehow always ended with Riza and Olivier arm wrestling while everyone around them, drunk on some disgusting alcohol made of antler shavings, some kind of tree sap, fermented juniper berries, and caribou blood, cheered them on like the hooligans they all were.

It was even odds as to who would win. The loser had to ... do something ridiculous that changed every year and Roy always forgot because by that time, he was blackout drunk.

But by god, if he had to participate in a contest to see who could eat the most fried moose droppings in thirty seconds, he was damn well going to get an alliance out of it. And he was _not_ going to spend his own money to foot the damn bill.


End file.
